time, do what I would to struggle against it, heavy drowsiness came over me. Thoughts grew incoherent and reason seemed leaving me. My head fell first on one side, then on the other. The last thing I can remember is a strong arm encircling me and keeping me from tumbling out of my chair. Whatever the drug was, its action was strong and swift.
For hours and hours it held me senseless, and when at last its power faded and my mind, struggling back to a clouded sort of consciousness, made, after many attempts, the fact apparent to me that I was lying on a bed, and, moreover, as I found by stretching out my arms and feeling around, my own bed, is it to be wondered at that I said to myself, ‘I have dreamed the most frightful dream that ever came to a tormented mind’? After this effort of mind I sank back once more in a semi-conscious state, but fully persuaded I had never quitted my bed. My relief at this discovery was immense.
Yet if my mind grew easy, I cannot say the same for the body. My head seemed preparing to split in two; my tongue was dry and parched. These unpleasant facts became more and more noticeable as consciousness gradually returned. I sat up in the bed and pressed my hands to my throbbing brows.
‘Oh, dear heart!’ I heard my old nurse say. ‘He is coming round at last.’ Then another voice—a man’s voice, soft and bland.
‘Yes, your master will soon be well again. Kindly let me feel your pulse, Mr Vaughan.’
A soft finger was laid upon my wrist.
‘Who is it?’ I asked.
‘I am Doctor Deane, at your service,’ said the stranger.
‘Have I been ill? How long? How many days?’
‘A few hours only. There is nothing to be alarmed at. Lie down again and keep quiet for a while. Are you thirsty?’
‘Yes, I am dying with thirst—give me water.’
They did so. I drank greedily, and felt somewhat relieved.
‘Now, nurse,’ I heard the doctor say, ‘make him some weak tea, and when he wants anything to eat let him have it. I will look in again later on.’
Doctor Deane was shown out, and old Priscilla, returning to my bedside, patted and punched the pillows to make me more comfortable. By this time I was wide awake and the experiences of the night were coming back to me with a distinctness and detail far above those of a recalled dream.
‘What is the time?’ I asked.
‘Nigh upon noon, Master Gilbert.’ Priscilla spoke in a sorrowful, injured manner.
‘Noon! what has been the matter with me?’
The old servant was weeping. I could hear her. She made no answer, so I repeated my question.
‘Oh, Master Gilbert!’ she sobbed, ‘how could you do it? When I came into the room and saw the empty bed I thought I should have dropped.’
When she saw the empty bed! I trembled. The horrors of the night were real!
‘How could you do it, Master Gilbert?’ continued Priscilla. ‘To go out without a word, and wander half over London, all alone and not able to see a thing!’
‘Sit down and tell me what you mean—what has happened.’
She had not yet quite aired her grievance. ‘If you wanted to get tipsy or to take any of them stuffs to send you to sleep and make you insensible, you might have done it at home, Master Gilbert. I shouldn’t have minded once in a way.’
‘You’re a kind old fool, Priscilla Tell me all about last night.’
It was not until she saw I was getting quite angry that her tongue would consent to run pretty straight, and when I heard her account of what had occurred my head was whirling. This is what she told me.
It must have been about an hour after my stealthy exit that she awoke. She put her ear to the door to make certain that I was asleep and wanting nothing. Hearing no sound of life in my room she entered it, and found the bed untenanted and me gone. Probably she was even more frightened than she owned to being. She knew all about my despondency and complainings of the last few days, and I have no doubt but her first fear was that I had destroyed myself. She started in search of me, and at once recognizing the impossibility of finding me without assistance, turned to that first and last resource of an Englishwoman in such a difficulty—the police. Having told her tale at the nearest station, and by entreaties, and by enlarging on my infirmity, made known the urgency of the case, and secured sympathy, telegraphic messages were sent, to other police stations asking if any one answering to my description had been found. Priscilla waited upon thorns until about five o’clock in the morning, when a reply came from the other end of the town. It stated that a young man who appeared to be blind, and who was certainly drunk and incapable, had just been brought in.
Priscilla flew to the rescue. She found me lying senseless, and destined, upon my recovery, to be brought before the magistrate. A doctor was soon procured, who testified to my innocence so far as alcohol was concerned. The energetic Priscilla, after placing me safely in a cab, gave the officers a bit of her mind as to the discomforts under which she a found me labouring. She then departed triumphantly with her unconscious charge, and laid him on the bed he had so rashly quitted.
I am grieved to be compelled to gather from her words that, in spite of the indignation she displayed toward the policemen, her estimate of my condition was the same as theirs. She was particularly grateful to the doctor, whom, I fear, she looked upon as a clever and complaisant practitioner, who had extricated a gentleman from a scrape by a well-timed but untruthful explanation.
‘But I never knew a body stop insensible so long after it. Don’t ee do it again, Master Gilbert,’ she concluded.
I did not combat her suspicions. Priscilla was scarcely the one to whom I wished to confide the adventures of the night. By far the simplest way was to say nothing, to leave her to draw her own and, perhaps, not unnatural conclusions.
‘I won’t do it again,’ I said. ‘Now get me some breakfast. Tea and toast—anything.’
She went to do my bidding. It was not that I was hungry. I wanted to be alone for a few minutes, to think—or think as well as my aching head would allow.
I recalled everything that had happened since I left the door of my house. The entranced walk, the drunken guide, the song I had heard, and, afterward, those horrible, eloquent sounds and touches. Everything was clear and connected up to the moment the opiate was forced upon me; after that my mind was blank. Priscilla’s tale showed me that during that blank I must have been transported several miles and deposited in the thoroughfare where I was found by the policeman. I saw through the crafty scheme. I had been dropped, insensible, far away from the scene of the crime at which I had been present. How wild and improbable my tale would seem. Would anyone believe it?
Then I remembered my horror at what I felt streaming over my hand as I lay pinned down upon the fallen man. I called Priscilla.
‘Look,’ I said, holding my right hand toward her, ‘is it clean—was it clean when you found me?’
‘Clean—la, no, Master Gilbert!’
‘What was on it?’ I asked, excitedly.
‘All covered with mud, just as if you’d been dabbling in the
