What next? It was all as in a dream, in which, in the gloom of the thick night, he stumbled upon a flight of slippery steps, and walked up and up, and then along a road which he crossed again and again, and always walking on and on. At times he guided himself by mechanically touching a cold rough stony wall, till somehow it was different and felt slippery, and his hand glided over the side. Then darkness, and a sense of wandering. How long? Where? Why was he wandering on? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ It was all a dream, but changed to a time when his head was as it were on fire, and he was climbing mountains where diamonds glistened at the top, but which he could not reach, though he was ever climbing, with the sun burning into his brain, and the diamonds that he must find farther and farther away. And so on, and so on, in one long weary journey, to reach that which he could not attain, and at last oblivion--soft, sweet, restful oblivion-- with nothing wrong, nothing a trouble, no weariness or care: it was rest, sweet rest, after that toilsome climb. The next sensation was of a cool soft hand upon his brow, and Mark Heath opened his eyes, to gaze into those of a pale, grave-looking woman in white, curiously-shaped cap; and she smiled at the look of intelligence in his face as he said softly. "Who are you?" "Your nurse," was the reply. "Nurse?" One word only, but a chapter in its inquiring tone. "Yes," she said gently; "you have been ill. Don't try to talk. Take this, and lie quite still." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Another long, dreamy time, during which there were noises about his head--the gentle, pleasant voice of his nurse, and the firm, decisive voice of the doctor. It might have been hours, it might have been days or weeks, he did not know; and then came the morning when he seemed to awaken from a long disturbed sleep, full of terrible dreams, with a full realisation of his position. He looked about him, and there were people in beds on either side, while a row of windows started from opposite to him, and went on right and left. At last he saw the face of the woman whom he felt that he had seen leaning over him in his dream. She came to his bedside. "Well?" she said, with a pleasant smile. "Is this a hospital?" he said eagerly. "Yes." "And I have met with some accident--hurt?" "No," was the reply; "not an accident. You have been ill." "Ill? How came I here?" He looked wildly in the calm soft face before him, and behind it there seemed to be a dense mental mist which he could not penetrate. There was the nurse; and as he lay, it seemed to him that he could think as far as their presence there, and no further. "You had better wait till the doctor has been round." "If you don't tell me what all this means," he said impetuously, "you will make me worse."