“The pain had passed.  I thought I was killing myself and I did not care.  I shall never forget that dawn, and the strange horror of seeing that my hands had become as clouded glass, and watching them grow clearer and thinner as the day went by, until at last I could see the sickly disorder of my room through them, though I closed my transparent eyelids.  My limbs became glassy, the bones and arteries faded, vanished, and the little white nerves went last.  I gritted my teeth and stayed there to the end.  At last only the dead tips of the fingernails remained, pallid and white, and the brown stain of some acid upon my fingers.

“I struggled up.  At first I was as incapable as a swathed infant—­stepping with limbs I could not see.  I was weak and very hungry.  I went and stared at nothing in my shaving-glass, at nothing save where an attenuated pigment still remained behind the retina of my eyes, fainter than mist.  I had to hang on to the table and press my forehead against the glass.

“It was only by a frantic effort of will that I dragged myself back to the apparatus and completed the process.

“I slept during the forenoon, pulling the sheet over my eyes to shut out the light, and about midday I was awakened again by a knocking.  My strength had returned.  I sat up and listened and heard a whispering.  I sprang to my feet and as noiselessly as possible began to detach the connections of my apparatus, and to distribute it about the room, so as to destroy the suggestions of its arrangement.  Presently the knocking was renewed and voices called, first my landlord’s, and then two others.  To gain time I answered them.  The invisible rag and pillow came to hand and I opened the window and pitched them out on to the cistern cover.  As the window opened, a heavy crash came at the door.  Someone had charged it with the idea of smashing the lock.  But the stout bolts I had screwed up some days before stopped him.  That startled me, made me angry.  I began to tremble and do things hurriedly.

“I tossed together some loose paper, straw, packing paper and so forth, in the middle of the room, and turned on the gas.  Heavy blows began to rain upon the door.  I could not find the matches.  I beat my hands on the wall with rage.  I turned down the gas again, stepped out of the window on the cistern cover, very softly lowered the sash, and sat down, secure and invisible, but quivering with anger, to watch events.  They split a panel, I saw, and in another moment they had broken away the staples of the bolts and stood in the open doorway.  It was the landlord and his two step-sons, sturdy young men of three or four and twenty.  Behind them fluttered the old hag of a woman from downstairs.