After a while, Aymer awoke from the stupor into which the drug that had been administered to him had thrown his senses. His awakening was more painful than the first effects of the poison. His head felt as heavy as lead, and there was a dull pain across his brow. A languid helplessness seemed to possess his limbs, he could not walk across the room, and with difficulty stretched out his hand to the bell-rope. Then all the designs upon the wall-papering got mixed up before his eyes in a fantastic dance, which made him giddy, till he was obliged to shut them. His consciousness had as yet barely sufficiently returned for him to notice that he was in a different apartment to any he had hitherto occupied at the asylum. He must have had partial returns to consciousness previously, for he found himself sitting in a large armchair, half clad, and wearing a dressing-gown. A second pull at the bell-rope brought footsteps outside the door, which sounded heavy upon the boards, evidently uncarpeted. Then a key turned in the lock outside, at the sound of that Aymer opened his eyes quickly, and a strong-looking man, whom he had never seen before, peered in.
“Where is Mr Theodore?” said Aymer. “Is Miss Waldron come? Tell them I am better. Ask her to see me. What has been the matter with me?”
“You’ve had one of your fits, sir,” replied the man, very civilly, but in an indifferent tone.
“My fits! I never have fits. Why do you stand in the doorway? Why was the door locked?”
“All right sir—don’t excite yourself. There, you see you can’t stand. It’s your head, sir, your head.”
“Send me a doctor instantly,” said Aymer.
“A doctor? He’s been to see you three or four times.”
“Three or four times! How long have I been ill, then?”
“Oh, five days, I think. Let’s see, you were brought over here on the Tuesday I remember—yes, five days.”
“Brought over here? What do you mean? Who the deuce are you?” said Aymer, for the first time growing suspicious, and standing up by dint of effort.