seemed at that moment, to my imagination, almost
to take human shape, to convert themselves into ogre-like faces, and to
grin at me. Was I too daring? Was it wrong of me to risk my life in this
manner? I was terribly tired, and, curious as it may seem, my greatest
fear at that crucial moment was the dread that I might fall asleep. I
had spent two nights with scarcely any repose, and felt that at any
moment, notwithstanding all my efforts, slumber might visit me. In order
to give Bindloss full opportunity for carrying out his scheme, it was
necessary for me to get into bed, and even to feign sleep. In my present
exhausted condition the pretence of slumber would easily lapse into the
reality. This risk, however, which really was a very grave one, must be
run. Without undressing I got into bed, pulling the bed-clothes well
over me. In my hand I held my revolver. I deliberately put out the
candles, and then lay motionless, waiting for events. The house was
quiet as the grave--there was not a stir, and gradually my nerves,
excited as they were, began to calm down. As I had fully expected,
overpowering sleepiness seized me, and, notwithstanding every effort, I
found myself drifting away into the land of dreams. I began to wish that
whatever apparition was to appear would do so at once and get it over.
Gradually but surely I seemed to pass from all memory of my present
world, and to live in a strange and terrible phantasmagoria. In that
state I slept, in that state also I dreamt, and dreamt horribly.

I thought that I was dancing a waltz with an enormously tall woman. She
towered above me, clasping me in her arms, and began to whirl me round
and round at a giddy speed. I could hear the crashing music of a distant
band. Faster and faster, round and round some great empty hall was I
whirled. I knew that I was losing my senses, and screamed to her to stop
and let me go. Suddenly there was a terrible crash close to me. Good
God! I found myself awake, but--I was still moving. Where was I? Where
was I going? I leapt up on the bed, only to reel and fall heavily
backwards upon the floor. What was the matter? Why was I sliding,
sliding? Had I suddenly gone mad, or was I still suffering from some
hideous nightmare? I tried to move, to stagger to my feet. Then by slow
degrees my senses began to return, and I knew where I was. I was in the
circular room, the room where Wentworth had died; but what was happening
to me I could not divine. I