There followed a long drowsy time of stillness and shadow. I seemed to have fallen in some deep well of delicious oblivion and obscurity. Dream-like images still flitted before my fancy--these were at first undefinable, but after awhile they took more certain shapes. Strange fluttering creatures hovered about me--lonely eyes stared at me from a visible deep gloom; long white bony fingers grasping at nothing made signs to me of warning or menace. Then--very gradually, there dawned upon my sense of vision a cloudy red mist like a stormy sunset, and from the middle of the blood-like haze a huge black hand descended toward me. It pounced upon my chest--it grasped my throat in its monstrous clutch, and held me down with a weight of iron. I struggled violently--I strove to cry out, but that terrific pressure took from me all power of utterance. I twisted myself to right and left in an endeavor to escape--but my tyrant of the sable hand had bound me in on all sides. Yet I continued to wrestle with the cruel opposing force that strove to overwhelm me--little by little--inch by inch--so! At last! One more struggle--victory! I woke! Merciful God! Where was I? In what horrible atmosphere--in what dense darkness?
Slowly, as my senses returned to me, I remembered my recent illness. The monk--the man Pietro--where were they? What had they done to me? By degrees, I realized that I was lying straight down upon my back--the couch was surely very hard? Why had they taken the pillows from under my head? A pricking sensation darted through my veins--I felt my own hands curiously--they were warm, and my pulse beat strongly, though fitfully. But what was this that hindered my breathing? Air--air! I must have air! I put up my hands--horror! They struck against a hard opposing substance above me. Quick as lightning then the truth flashed upon my mind! I had been buried--buried alive; this wooden prison that inclosed me was a coffin! A frenzy surpassing that of an infuriated tiger took swift possession of me--with hands and nails I tore and scratched at the accursed boards--with all the force of my shoulders and arms I toiled to wrench open the closed lid! My efforts were fruitless! I grew more ferociously mad with rage and terror. How easy were all deaths compared to one like this! I was suffocating--I felt my eyes start from their sockets--blood sprung from my mouth and nostrils--and icy drops of sweat trickled from my forehead. I paused, gasping for breath. Then, suddenly nerving myself for one more wild effort, I hurled my limbs with all the force of agony and desperation against one side of my narrow prison. It cracked--it split asunder!--and then--a new and horrid fear beset me, and I crouched back, panting heavily. If--if I were buried in the ground--so ran my ghastly thoughts--of what use to break open the coffin and let in the mold--the damp wormy mold, rich with the bones of the dead--the penetrating mold that would choke up my mouth and eyes, and seal me into silence forever! My mind quailed at this idea--my brain tottered on the verge of madness! I laughed--think of it!--and my laugh sounded in my ears like the last rattle in the throat of a dying man.