THE Reverend Mark Hickett stirred under the firm dry hand upon his forehead.
“Look at me,” came the steady voice.
He sank back a little into the deep armchair in which he was sitting, and gazed, serenely now, into the eyes of Doctor Murchison.
He was no, longer afraid. On the contrary, he was happy and at peace.
It seemed to him that Doctor Murchison was smiling at him, but he could only see the doctor’s face darkly, as through a mist. He sighed and his thin hands plucked at the padding of the chair.
Then, abruptly, the face of the doctor disappeared altogether. The room, too, had vanished, with its stone walls and the great bookcases and the sheaves of weapons. He was looking through a window and at his feet was a gleaming sea, green and sapphire, and there, in the offing, was the ga
