"I could make nothing of what you told me while you speak like that.

Drink it, and then sit still until you get used to the different temperature." Winston drained the glass, and sank limply into a chair.

As yet his face was colorless, though his chilled flesh tingled horribly as the blood once more crept into the surface tissues.

Then he fixed his eyes upon his host as he told his story.

Barrington stood very straight watching his visitor, but his face was drawn, for the resolution which supported him through the day was less noticeable in the early morning, and it was evident now at least that he was an old man carrying a heavy load of anxiety.