My mind was wandering, my reason giving way, for suddenly I felt a sensation as if the burning in my head had been succeeded by an icy coldness which seemed to freeze my senses; and then, as suddenly, I felt as if I were being borne along in mid-air, floating higher and higher into space, then down, down, into depths too terrible to contemplate. In a moment I should be dashed to pieces. I felt I was falling and utterly unable to save myself.
The sensation was awful.
One moment I fancied I was in London, amid old associations and boon companions, the next I seemed in some out-of-the-way place, lonely and forgotten. Presently I saw the grave, beautiful face of Vera, and then it gave place to that of a middle-aged man, whose sinister features puckered into a hideous mocking smile.
I tried to collect my thoughts, to shape them, to think; but it was no use.
The pains returned more acutely than before. I essayed to cry out, but my dry, parched tongue clave to the roof of my mouth. I felt weak and ill, and my agony was so intense I was convinced if it continued I should go mad or die.
Perhaps it grew too much for me, for as the throbbing in my temples increased, I experienced a sickening sensation of giddiness, and again became insensible.
I must have fainted.
Slowly I struggled back to consciousness, only to find myself stretched at full length upon a heap of mouldy straw, with a black, impenetrable darkness around me. The place was cold and damp, and as soon as I was able I rose and commenced to feel the dimensions of my strange apartment.
It was not large, I found, but its four bare stone walls, through which water oozed in places, the large iron ring fixed into the masonry, and the strong iron-bound door, quickly apprised me of my position.
I was in prison.