CHAPTER VIII.
THE HOUR OF DEATH A red, unwinking eye staring at him fixedly from out of impenetrable gloom--an ogreish, gleaming thing that brought life back into him with a thrill of horror--was Howland's first vision of returning consciousness.
It was dead in front of him, on a level with his face--a ball of yellow fire that seemed to burn into his very soul.

He tried to cry out, but no sound fell from his lips; he strove to move, to fight himself away, but there was no power of movement in his limbs.

The eye grew larger.

He saw that it was so bright it cast a halo, and the halo widened before his own staring eyes until the dense gloom about it seemed to be melting away.

Then he knew.