How still it was!  The silence of eternity was in that all compassing dark, which reached to the uttermost boundaries of space.  It was hollow and empty, save for him, rising and falling, rising and falling, in a series of regular movements corresponding almost exactly to the ticking of a watch.

A faint, sickening odour crept through the darkness, followed by a black overwhelming shadow which threatened to engulf him in its depths.  Still swaying, he waited for it calmly.  All at once it was upon him, but swiftly receded.  He seemed to sway backward out of it, and as he looked back upon it, gathering its forces for another attack, he saw that it was different from the darkness upon which he lay—­that, instead of black, it was a deep purple.

The odour persisted and almost nauseated him.  It was vaguely familiar, though he had never before come into intimate contact with it.  Was it the purple shadow, that ebbed and flowed so strangely upon his dark horizon, growing to a brighter purple with each movement?

The purple grew very bright, then deepened to blue—­almost black.  Dancing tongues of flame shot through the darkness, as he swung through it, up and down, like a ship moved by a heavy ground swell.  The flames took colour and increased in number.  Violet, orange, blue, green, and yellow flickered for an instant, then disappeared.

The darkness was not quite so heavy, but it still swayed.  The javelins of flame shot through it continually, making a web of iridescence.  Then the purple shadow approached majestically and put them out.  When it retreated, they came again, but the colour was fainter.

The yellow flames darted toward him from every conceivable direction, stabbing him like needles.  In this light, the purple shadow changed to blue and began to grow brighter.  The sickening odour was so strong now that he could scarcely breathe.  The blue shadow warred with the yellow flames, but could not put them out.  He saw now that the shadow was his friend and the flames were a host of enemies.

All the little stabbing lights suddenly merged into one.  He was surrounded by fire that burned him as he swayed back and forth, and the cool shadows were gone.  The light grew intense and terrible, but he could not lift his hand to shade his eyes.  Slowly the orange deepened to scarlet in which he spun around giddily among myriads of blood-red disks.  The scarlet grew brighter and brighter until it became a white, streaming light.  All at once the swaying stopped.

The intensity of the white light was agreeably tempered by a grey mist.  Through the vapour, he saw the outlines of his own chiffonier, across the room.  A woman in spotless white moved noiselessly about.  Even though she did not look at him, he felt a certain friendliness toward her.  She seemed to have been with him while he swayed through the shadow and it was pleasant to know that he had not been alone.