As Mars passed out of wave contact about one o'clock in the morning, I must have slept eleven hours after the return of my spirit to Earth. I had greatly feared that even if it were my good fortune ever to regain consciousness, it would be only to discover that I had lost the use of my limbs and was powerless to move. That the super-radium current would preserve my body in such a natural condition as even to induce sleep I would not have believed possible. Yet there was every indication that I had awakened from a natural sleep. I felt fresh and full of vigor, and there on my couch lay the cone which, in my sleep, I had unfastened and, in turning over, crushed. If I had remained unconscious the entire time there would not have been this evidence of restlessness, and I considered it of importance as being proof that my sleep had been natural. Beyond this, however, I did not consider the removal of the cone from my face as important, as the chloroform must have completely evaporated soon after I became unconscious. Now that I was once again in my laboratory with the humdrum life of a matter-of-fact world surging about me, evincing itself by the continual roar of traffic which reached me through the open window, my remarkable adventure of the night before seemed like a strange dream. As there was no tangible proof that I had actually been on Mars, I might have been led to the conclusion that I had chloroformed myself into unconsciousness only, and had passed from this state into a deep sleep, in which I had dreamed my remarkable experiences. But the clearness and consistency of every detail were amply sufficient to convince me of the genuineness of my experiences on Mars, and that the characters, so vividly portrayed in my mind, lived in flesh and blood on a world millions of miles away. Much more convincing than this, however, was the moral obligation that I felt incumbent upon me--a duty I owed to another. No dream could have left me with this keen sense of responsibility. Alas, I knew only too well that I loved, with an impossible love, a beautiful being of another planet, and that my duty lay in the renunciation of this love to Almos, its rightful possessor.