Then again the moments were the small cogs on the wheels of time, whereby the dark castle in which he sat was rushing ever towards the light: the cogs were caught and the wheels turned swiftly, and the time and the darkness sped.

He forgot the labour of waiting.

If now and then he fancied a tone through the darkness, it was to his mind the music-march of the morning to his rescue from the dungeon of the night.
But that was no musical tone which made the darkness shudder around him! He sprang to his feet.

It was a human groan--a groan as of one in dire pain, the pain of a soul's agony.

It seemed to have descended the stair to him.