My next recollection was that of opening my eyes to find myself lying at night in my room at Buckingham Street. I made an effort to sit up in bed, but my head had suddenly become curiously heavy--so heavy that the effort to raise it was almost too much for me, and I was glad to fall back upon the pillow, where I lay a moment feeling more faint and feeble than I had ever felt before. Then there glided gently into the room--into my bachelor room--a pleasant-looking young woman in a gray dress with white collar and cuffs. “What’s happened, nurse?” I said, recognising at once what she was--which was more than could be said of my voice, for it had become so thin and piping that its unfamiliarity startled me. “Oh, nothing has happened of any consequence,” she replied smilingly, “except that you have not been very well. But you’re mending now, and another day or two will see you quite yourself.” “What’s been the matter with me?” I asked. “You got a blow on the head by the fall of a chimney,” she replied. “But I can’t let you talk now. Mr. Grant is coming in to sleep here to-night, as I’ve promised to take a turn sitting up with a patient who is very ill. You can ask Mr. Grant to tell you anything you wish to know in the morning, but now you must go to sleep.” That something _had_ happened, notwithstanding her assurance to the contrary, I felt sure; but what that something was I did not know, nor did I very much care, for I felt dull and silly, and more than inclined to follow her advice. This I must in the end have done, for when next I opened my eyes it was broad daylight, and Grant was standing in his shirt sleeves before the looking-glass, shaving. My head was clearer now, and I was able to recall what had taken place up to the moment when I had lost my senses after the explosion at the General Post Office. “Have they got him, Grant?” I inquired. He jumped like a “kicking” rifle. “Good Lord! old man, how you startled me! You’ve made me slash myself horribly. Got whom?” he said. “Mullen,” I answered. “Mullen? Oh, then you do know all about it? No, they haven’t. But how are you feeling?” “Like a boiled owl. How long have I been ill?” “Three weeks. You got knocked on the head by a chimney-pot or something, and had a touch of concussion of the brain.” “Was there much damage done?” “Damage? I believe you. The top of Cheapside pretty near blown away, and the General Post Office half wrecked.” “How did I get here?” “In fine state, my boy--on a stretcher. They were taking you to the hospital when I came along--which I did as soon as I heard about the explosion--but I said I knew you, and told them who you were, and had you brought here instead. And a bad time you’ve had of it, I can tell you. But now you mustn’t talk any more.” “Oh, I’m all right! Tell me, were there many people killed?”