One more jolt like that will send him clear to--" And the voice glided into an eternity of distance.

Yet again he swung tip from the pit of darkness and became aware of golden hair around a woman's face, and a marvelous soft, cool hand upon his forehead.

Her voice reached him, too, and made him think of all things musical, all things distant, like the sounds of birds falling from the sky and though he understood not a syllable, a sweet assurance of safety flooded through him.

He slept.
When he woke again, it was from a dream of fleeing through empty air swifter than the wind with a wolf-dog looming behind him out of space, but presently he found that he was lying in a bed with a stream of sunlight washing across a white coverlet.

A door at his right swung open and there in the entrance stood the wolf-dog of his vision with a five-year-old girl upon its back.
"Don't go in there, Bart!" whispered the child.