“It works!” he cried exultantly.  “My reasoning has been justified!” He was up on his feet again, alert and strong.  With a tube in his hand he rushed over to his wife and held it to her face.  In a few seconds she moaned, stirred, and sat up.  He turned to me, and I felt the tide of life stealing warmly through my arteries.  My reason told me that it was but a little respite, and yet, carelessly as we talk of its value, every hour of existence now seemed an inestimable thing.  Never have I known such a thrill of sensuous joy as came with that freshet of life.  The weight fell away from my lungs, the band loosened from my brow, a sweet feeling of peace and gentle, languid comfort stole over me.  I lay watching Summerlee revive under the same remedy, and finally Lord John took his turn.  He sprang to his feet and gave me a hand to rise, while Challenger picked up his wife and laid her on the settee.

“Oh, George, I am so sorry you brought me back,” she said, holding him by the hand.  “The door of death is indeed, as you said, hung with beautiful, shimmering curtains; for, once the choking feeling had passed, it was all unspeakably soothing and beautiful.  Why have you dragged me back?”

“Because I wish that we make the passage together.  We have been together so many years.  It would be sad to fall apart at the supreme moment.”

For a moment in his tender voice I caught a glimpse of a new Challenger, something very far from the bullying, ranting, arrogant man who had alternately amazed and offended his generation.  Here in the shadow of death was the innermost Challenger, the man who had won and held a woman’s love.  Suddenly his mood changed and he was our strong captain once again.

“Alone of all mankind I saw and foretold this catastrophe,” said he with a ring of exultation and scientific triumph in his voice.  “As to you, my good Summerlee, I trust your last doubts have been resolved as to the meaning of the blurring of the lines in the spectrum and that you will no longer contend that my letter in the Times was based upon a delusion.”

For once our pugnacious colleague was deaf to a challenge.  He could but sit gasping and stretching his long, thin limbs, as if to assure himself that he was still really upon this planet.  Challenger walked across to the oxygen tube, and the sound of the loud hissing fell away till it was the most gentle sibilation.

“We must husband our supply of the gas,” said he.  “The atmosphere of the room is now strongly hyperoxygenated, and I take it that none of us feel any distressing symptoms.  We can only determine by actual experiments what amount added to the air will serve to neutralize the poison.  Let us see how that will do.”

We sat in silent nervous tension for five minutes or more, observing our own sensations.  I had just begun to fancy that I felt the constriction round my temples again when Mrs. Challenger called out from the sofa that she was fainting.  Her husband turned on more gas.