The half-moon set, and the night became much darker before John Derringham rose from his seat by the bench.

A stupor had fallen upon him.

He had ceased to reason.

Then he got up and made his way back to the orchard house, under the myriads of pale stars, which shone with diminished brilliancy from the luminous, summer night sky.
Here he seemed to grow material again and to realize that he was indeed awake.

But what had happened to him?
Whether he had been dreaming or no, a spell had fallen upon him--he had drunk of the poison cup.