Presently a faint feeling of curiosity concerning that odd expanse of white overhead filtered into her consciousness, gradually increasing in strength until it became a definite irritation, like the prolonged light scratching of a finger-nail up a surface of silk. She opened her eyes again reluctantly. It was still there, immediately above her--a formless stretch of dull white. She wondered whether it extended indefinitely, and her eyes travelled slowly along until they were arrested by a narrow line of demarcation. Here the expanse of white ceased abruptly, at right angles to a misty blue surface in the centre of which glimmered a square of light. Ann's mind seemed to struggle up from some profound depth where it had lain quiescent and feebly and disjointedly signalled the words: "Ceiling ... wall ... window...." And finally, with an immense effort, "Room." After that the cogs of her mental machinery began to move in a more normal manner, though still slowly and confusedly. She recaptured the memory of a blurred murmur of voices and of some fiery liquid being poured down, her throat which stung and smarted abominably as it went down. Later had followed a pleasant dreamy consciousness of warmth which had brought with it realisation of the fact that previously she had been feeling terribly cold. Then voices again--notably Maria's this time: "She'll do now, Mrs. Hilyard, mum. 'Tis only warmth she wants." Why did she want warmth? When it was summer. She was sure it _was_ summer. She remembered seeing the sun overhead--hanging in the middle of the sky just like one of those solid-looking gold halos which the Old Masters used to paint round the head of a saint. At least ... had it been in the sky ... lately? To-day? And then, accompanied by a rush of blind terror, came recollection--of an overcast sky and grey, plunging sea, and of a wild, futile, suffocating struggle against some awful force that had tossed her hither and thither as a child might toss a ball, and had finally surged right over her, blotting out everything. A little moan of horror escaped her, and immediately Robin's dear familiar voice answered reassuringly: "You're quite safe, old thing--tucked up in bed. So don't worry." He was bending over her, and she made an instinctive effort to sit up. The movement sent a stab of agony through her whole body, and she gasped out convulsively: "It hurts!" In a moment his arm was round her shoulders, and he had laid her gently back against her pillows. "Yes. I expect you're pretty well bruised from head to foot," he said in a tone of commiseration. Ann regarded him uncertainly. "I feel so queer. What's happened to me? Where--where am I?" she asked.