It was still night when Wogan opened his eyes, but the night was now clear of mist.

There was no moon, however, to give him a guess at the hour.

He lay upon his back among the dead leaves, and looking upwards at the stars, caught as it seemed in a lattice-work of branches, floated back into consciousness.

He moved, and the movement turned him sick with pain.

The knowledge of his wounds came to him and brought with it a clear recollection of the last three nights.