Hour by hour the clouds thickened, obscuring every ray of light, closing
the avenues of sight and sound, until, isolated from the outer world by
this intangible yet impenetrable barrier, Darrell was alone in a world
peopled only with the phantoms of his imagination. Of the lapse of time,
of the weary procession of days and nights which followed, he knew
nothing. Day and night were to him only an endless repetition of the
horrors which thronged his fevered brain.
Again and again he lived over the tragic scene in the sleeping-car, each
iteration and reiteration growing in dreadful realism, until it was he
himself who grappled in deadly contest with the murderer, and the latter
in turn became a monster whose hot breath stifled him, whose malign,
demoniacal glance seemed to sear his eyeballs like living fire. Over and
over, with failing strength, he waged the unequal contest, striving at
last with a legion of hideous forms. Then, as the clouds grew still more
dense about him, these shapes grew dim and he found himself, weak and
trembling, adrift upon a sea of darkness whose black waves tossed him
angrily, with each breath threatening to engulf him in their gloomy
depths. Desperately he battled with them, each struggle leaving him
weaker than the last, until at length, scarcely breathing, his strength
utterly exhausted, he lay watching the towering forms as they swept
relentlessly towards him, gathering strength and fury as they came. He
saw the yawning abysses on each side, he heard the roar of the
on-coming waves, but was powerless to move hand or foot.
But while he waited in helpless terror the waves on which he tossed to
and fro grew calm; then they seemed to divide, and he felt himself going
down, down into infinite depths. The sullen roar died away; the darkness
was flooded with golden light, and through its ethereal waves he was
still floating downward more gently than ever a roseleaf floated to
earth on the evening's breath. Through the waves of golden light there
came to him a faint, distant murmur of voices, and the words,-"He is sinking fast!"
He smiled with perfect content, wondering dreamily if it would never
end; then consciousness was lost in utter oblivion.
* * * * *
Three weeks had elapsed since Darrell came to The Pines. August had
given place to September, but the languorous days brought no cessation
of the fearful heat, no cooling rain to the panting earth, no promise of
renewed life to the drought-smitten vegetation. The timber on the ranges
had been reduced to masses of charred and smouldering embers, among
which the low flames still crept and crawled, winding their way up and
down the mountains. The pall of smoke overhanging the city grew more and
more dense, until there came a morning when, as the sun looked over the
distant ranges, the landscape was suffused with a dull red glare which
steadily deepened until all objects assumed a blood-red hue. Two or
three hours passed, and then a lurid light illumined the strange scene,
brightening moment by moment, till earth and sky glowed like a mass of
molten copper. The heat seemed to concentrate upon that part of the
earth's surface, the air grew oppressive, and an ominous silence
reigned, in which even the birds were hushed and the dumb brutes cowered
beside their masters.