them, if he had only torn the veil early from every limb of
that draped female figure, that iron maiden, if he had only seen it in
its horror of nudity, with its sharp nails for eyes, and its jagged
knives where the bosom should be, he should not be pressed to death in
its embrace now.

He had been deceived, betrayed, fooled. That was why he was shut up. He
had believed in a woman, had believed that the cobra's bite was only a
wasp's sting. Good Lord, what an imbecile! He was insane of course,
raving mad. And he had been here eighteen months and only saw the joke
now.

Michael laughed again, shouted with laughter.

The sun was setting again. It was always setting now. It set in the
mornings as well. The red thong of light was on the wall again. Blood
red! He rocked to and fro shaking with laughter.

The doctor and a warder came in. It was just like them. They were always
coming in when they were not wanted.

He pointed at the bar of light, stumbled to it, and tried to tear it
from the wall. It had been there long enough. Too long. And as he tore
at it with hands dyed crimson, something that was pressing upon him
lightened suddenly, and the blood gushed forth from his mouth, flooding
the sun-stained wall.

"I have put out that damned sunset at last," he said to himself as he
fell.

CHAPTER XVI

So we must keep apart,
You there, I here,
With just the door ajar
That oceans are,
And prayer,
And that pale sustenance
Despair!

--EMILY DICKENSON.

It was a little after Christmas when Michael first began to take notice
of his surroundings once more. There was no love or tenderness that
Wentworth could have shown him which the grave young Italian doctor did
not lavish on him.

Little by little the mist in which Michael lay shifted and cleared, and
closed in on him again. But the times when it cleared became nearer
together. He felt that the great lethargy in which he lay would shift
when the mist shifted. Dimly, as if through innumerable veils, he was
aware that something indefinable but terrible crouched behind it. Days
passed. Blank days and blank nights. He had forgotten everything.

* * * * *

He had been lying awake a long time, years and years. The doctor had
been in to see him just before sunrise, had raised him, and made him
drink, and laid him back upon his pillow. And now he felt full of rest.
How clear everything was becoming.