How escape from the importunity of lamentable cries and from the look of staring, sad eyes in the faces which pressed round him till he gasped for breath under the crushing weight of worlds that hung over his aching shoulders?
Get away! But how?
If he attempted to move he would step off into nothing, and perish in the crashing fall of that universe of which he was the only support.
And what were the voices saying?
Urging him to move! Why?
Move to destruction! Not likely! The absurdity of the thing filled him with indignation.

He got a firmer foothold and stiffened his muscles in heroic resolve to carry his burden to all eternity.

And ages passed in the superhuman labour, amidst the rush of circling worlds; in the plaintive murmur of sorrowful voices urging him to desist before it was too late--till the mysterious power that had laid upon him the giant task seemed at last to seek his destruction.

With terror he felt an irresistible hand shaking him by the shoulder, while the chorus of voices swelled louder into an agonised prayer to go, go before it is too late.
He felt himself slipping, losing his balance, as something dragged at his legs, and he fell.

With a faint cry he glided out of the anguish of perishing creation into an imperfect waking that seemed to be still under the spell of his dream.
"What?
What ?" he murmured sleepily, without moving or opening his eyes.
His head still felt heavy, and he had not the courage to raise his eyelids.