tarnished mirrors reflected dirtily the
growing daylight; a door closed, far away, and I heard the crowing of a
cock; then by and by the whistle of a passing train.

Years seemed to have passed since I first came into this terrible room.
I had lost the use of my tongue, my voice refused to obey my
panic-stricken desire to cry out; once or twice I tried in vain to force
an articulate sound through my rigid lips; and when at last a broken
whisper rewarded my feverish struggles, I felt a strange sense of great
victory. How soundly he slept! Ordinarily, rousing him was no easy task,
and now he revolted steadily against being awakened at this untimely
hour. It seemed to me that I had called him for ages almost, before I
heard him grunt sleepily and turn in bed.

"Tom," I cried weakly, "Tom, come and help me!"

"What do you want? what is the matter with you?"

"Don't ask, come and help me!"

"Fallen out of bed I guess;" and he laughed drowsily.

My abject terror lest he should go to sleep again gave me new strength.
Was it the actual physical paralysis born of killing fear that held me
down? I could not have raised my head from the floor on my life; I could
only cry out in deadly fear for Tom to come and help me.

"Why don't you get up and get into bed?" he answered, when I implored
him to come to me. "You have got a bad nightmare; wake up!"

But something in my voice roused him at last, and he came chuckling
across the room, stopping to throw open two of the great shutters and
let a burst of white light into the room. He climbed up on the bed and
peered over jeeringly. With the first glance the laugh died, and he
leaped the bed and bent over me.

"My God, man, what is the matter with you? You are hurt!"

"I don't know what is the matter; lift me up, get me away from here, and
I'll tell you all I know."

"But, old chap, you must be hurt awfully; the floor is covered with
blood!"

He lifted my head and held me in his powerful arms. I looked down: a
great red stain blotted the floor beside me.

But, apart from the black bruise on my head, there was no sign of a
wound on my body, nor stain of blood on my lips. In as few words as
possible I told him the whole story.

"Let's get out of this," he said when I had finished; "this is no place
for us. Brigands I can stand, but--"

He helped me to dress, and as soon as possible we forced open the heavy
door, the door I had seen turn so softly on its hinges only a few