He wondered if it could be heard by others who
might thus find where he lay.
Then fear came on him, fear like an icy hand clutching at his breast,
fear that would not let him rest, but that brought him to his feet
again and urged him onward.
To die, that was nothing; he could die if need be; but to be shut up
here alone, with strange and unseen things hovering about him in the
blackness, that was quite beyond endurance. He was striving to get
away from them. He had not much thought, now, which way he went, he
cared little for direction, he wished only to keep in motion.
He had to stop at times to get breath and to rest his limbs, they
ached so. But, whenever he stood still or sat down to rest, the
darkness seemed to close in upon him and around him so tightly as to
give him pain. He would not have cared so much for that, though, if it
had not been filled with strange creatures who crept close to him to
hear the throbbing in his head. He could not bear that; it compelled
him to move on.
He went a long way like this, with his hands before him, stumbling,
falling, rising again, stopping for a moment's rest, moaning as he
walked, crying softly to himself at times like the sick child that he
was.
Once he felt that he was going down an inclined way, like a long
chamber; there had been no prop or pillar on either side of him for
many minutes. Finally, his feet touched water. It grew to be ankle
deep. He pushed on, and it reached half-way to his knees.
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