The quiet in the house, and the low murmuring hum of summer insects outside the open window, soothed me.  My eyes closed of themselves, and I passed gradually into a strange condition, which was not waking—­for I knew nothing of what was going on about me, and not sleeping—­for I was conscious of my own repose.  In this state my fevered mind broke loose from me, while my weary body was at rest, and in a trance, or day-dream of my fancy—­I know not what to call it—­I saw Walter Hartright.  I had not thought of him since I rose that morning—­Laura had not said one word to me either directly or indirectly referring to him—­and yet I saw him now as plainly as if the past time had returned, and we were both together again at Limmeridge House.

He appeared to me as one among many other men, none of whose faces I could plainly discern.  They were all lying on the steps of an immense ruined temple.  Colossal tropical trees—­with rank creepers twining endlessly about their trunks, and hideous stone idols glimmering and grinning at intervals behind leaves and stalks and branches—­surrounded the temple and shut out the sky, and threw a dismal shadow over the forlorn band of men on the steps.  White exhalations twisted and curled up stealthily from the ground, approached the men in wreaths like smoke, touched them, and stretched them out dead, one by one, in the places where they lay.  An agony of pity and fear for Walter loosened my tongue, and I implored him to escape.  “Come back, come back!” I said.  “Remember your promise to her and to me.  Come back to us before the Pestilence reaches you and lays you dead like the rest!”

He looked at me with an unearthly quiet in his face.  “Wait,” he said, “I shall come back.  The night when I met the lost Woman on the highway was the night which set my life apart to be the instrument of a Design that is yet unseen.  Here, lost in the wilderness, or there, welcomed back in the land of my birth, I am still walking on the dark road which leads me, and you, and the sister of your love and mine, to the unknown Retribution and the inevitable End.  Wait and look.  The Pestilence which touches the rest will pass me.”

I saw him again.  He was still in the forest, and the numbers of his lost companions had dwindled to very few.  The temple was gone, and the idols were gone—­and in their place the figures of dark, dwarfish men lurked murderously among the trees, with bows in their hands, and arrows fitted to the string.  Once more I feared for Walter, and cried out to warn him.  Once more he turned to me, with the immovable quiet in his face.

“Another step,” he said, “on the dark road.  Wait and look.  The arrows that strike the rest will spare me.”

I saw him for the third time in a wrecked ship, stranded on a wild, sandy shore.  The overloaded boats were making away from him for the land, and he alone was left to sink with the ship.  I cried to him to hail the hindmost boat, and to make a last effort for his life.  The quiet face looked at me in return, and the unmoved voice gave me back the changeless reply.  “Another step on the journey.  Wait and look.  The Sea which drowns the rest will spare me.”