Finally, and before he had made up his mind to go out, he fancied himself confronted by an entering face, and in an instant detected.

And this it was, this initial difficulty, oddly enough--and not the subsequent hours of horror, confusion and danger, of dying men and wailing women--that rode his mind, dwelt on him and shook his nerves as the crisis approached.
One consolation he had, and one only; but a measureless one.

Basterga had kept his word.

He was cured.

Six hours earlier he had taken the _remedium_ according to the directions, and with every hour that had elapsed since he had felt new life course through his veins.