s a feather floating
on the wind, John Aldous experienced neither pain nor very much of the
sense of life. And yet, without seeing or feeling, he seemed to be living,
All was dead in him but that last consciousness, which is almost the
spirit; he might have been dreaming, and minutes, hours, or even years
might have passed in that dream. For a long time he seemed to be sinking
through the blackness; and then something stopped him, without jar or
shock, and he was rising. He could hear nothing. There was a vast silence
about him, a silence as deep and as unbroken as the abysmal pit in which he
seemed to be softly floating.

After a time Aldous felt himself swaying and rocking, as though tossed
gently on the billows of a sea. This was the first thought that took shape
in his struggling brain--he was at sea; he was on a ship in the heart of a
black night, and he was alone. He tried to call out, but his tongue seemed
gone. It seemed a very long time before day broke, and then it was a
strange day. Little needles of light pricked his eyes; silver strings shot
like flashes of weblike lightning through the darkness, and after that he
saw for an instant a strange glare. It was gone in one big, powderlike
flash, and he was in night again. These days and nights seemed to follow
one another swiftly now, and the nights grew less dark, and the days
brighter. He was conscious of sounds and buffetings, and it was very hot.

Out of this heat there came a cool, soft breeze that was continually
caressing his face, and eyes, and head. It was like the touch of a spirit
hand. It became more and more real to him. It caressed him into a dark and
comfortable oblivion. Out of this oblivion a still brighter day roused him.
His brain seemed clear. He opened his eyes. A white cloud was hovering over
them; it fell softly; it was cool and gentle. Then it rose again, and it
was not a cloud, but a hand! The hand moved away, and he was looking into a
pair of wide-open, staring, prayerful eyes, and a little cry came to him,
and a voice.

"John--John----"

He was drifting again, but now he knew that he was alive. He heard
movement. He heard voices. They were growing nearer and more distinct. He
tried to cry out Joanne's name, and it came in a whispering breath between
his lips. But Joanne heard; and he heard her calling to him; he felt her
hands; she was imploring him to open his eyes, to speak to her. It seemed
many minutes before he could do this, b