’At last I sat down on the summit of the hillock, and watched this strange incredible company of blind things groping to and fro, and making uncanny noises to each other, as the glare of the fire beat on them.  The coiling uprush of smoke streamed across the sky, and through the rare tatters of that red canopy, remote as though they belonged to another universe, shone the little stars.  Two or three Morlocks came blundering into me, and I drove them off with blows of my fists, trembling as I did so.

’For the most part of that night I was persuaded it was a nightmare.  I bit myself and screamed in a passionate desire to awake.  I beat the ground with my hands, and got up and sat down again, and wandered here and there, and again sat down.  Then I would fall to rubbing my eyes and calling upon God to let me awake.  Thrice I saw Morlocks put their heads down in a kind of agony and rush into the flames.  But, at last, above the subsiding red of the fire, above the streaming masses of black smoke and the whitening and blackening tree stumps, and the diminishing numbers of these dim creatures, came the white light of the day.

’I searched again for traces of Weena, but there were none.  It was plain that they had left her poor little body in the forest.  I cannot describe how it relieved me to think that it had escaped the awful fate to which it seemed destined.  As I thought of that, I was almost moved to begin a massacre of the helpless abominations about me, but I contained myself.  The hillock, as I have said, was a kind of island in the forest.  From its summit I could now make out through a haze of smoke the Palace of Green Porcelain, and from that I could get my bearings for the White Sphinx.  And so, leaving the remnant of these damned souls still going hither and thither and moaning, as the day grew clearer, I tied some grass about my feet and limped on across smoking ashes and among black stems, that still pulsated internally with fire, towards the hiding-place of the Time Machine.  I walked slowly, for I was almost exhausted, as well as lame, and I felt the intensest wretchedness for the horrible death of little Weena.  It seemed an overwhelming calamity.  Now, in this old familiar room, it is more like the sorrow of a dream than an actual loss.  But that morning it left me absolutely lonely again—­terribly alone.  I began to think of this house of mine, of this fireside, of some of you, and with such thoughts came a longing that was pain.

’But as I walked over the smoking ashes under the bright morning sky, I made a discovery.  In my trouser pocket were still some loose matches.  The box must have leaked before it was lost.

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