He experienced a shrinking, nervous dread of coming into contact with that man lying there beneath the black mantle, that hideous, silent form, perhaps done to death by his hands.

It was a revolt of the soul.

A moment he actually thought he was losing his mind, feverish fancies playing grim tricks before his strained, agonized vision, imagination peopling the black void with a riot of grotesque figures.
He gripped himself slowly and sternly, his jaws set, his tingling nerves mastered by the resolute dominance of an aroused will.
Compelling himself to the act, he bent down, feeling along the ground for the foreman's hat having the extinguished lamp fixed on it.

He was a long time discovering his object, yet the continued effort brought back a large measure of self-control, and gave birth to a certain clearness of perception.

He held the recovered lamp in his hands, leaning against the side of the tunnel, listening.