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36
PHOSPHOR.

I felt as if descending into chasms, lower and lower, depth below depth, and then seemed to rise again.

My brain became perfectly clear.

I comprehended where I was and reckoned my chances.

How awful were the thoughts that possessed me.

Supposing that I had made a mistake in the quantity of antidote?

If they found me like this and buried me!

Perhaps this was death, and the dead know all that is done to them—even to being buried without the power of moving.

I remembered cases I had read of premature burial, of persons having been found turned in their coffins, their hair dragged out, and the nails dug into their skin, showing how terrible the awakening must have been.

Now that I was on the point of death, perhaps dead, I had no wish to die.

Life seemed all that was beautiful; the grave horrible, repulsive, awful.

I had no idea of time; space swelled and was amplified to an extent of unutterable infinity.

I seemed to have been in this state for years.

My valet knocked at the door, and receiving no answer he opened it.