There was a deep silence everywhere.

I felt faint and giddy: curious flashes of light danced past my eyes, and my limbs shook like those of a palsied old man.

I sank upon a stone to rest, to try and arrange my scattered ideas into some sort of connection and order.

Mad! I clasped my aching head between my hands, and brooded on the fearful prospect looming before me, and in the words of poor King Lear, I prayed in my heart: "'O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heavens!' "PRAYER! There was another thought.

How could _I_ pray?
For I was a sceptic.