Chapter 4.

I have not a word to say about my own sensations.

My impression is that the shock inflicted on me completely suspended my thinking and

feeling power.

I certainly could not have known what I was about when Betteridge joined me, for I have

it on his authority that I laughed when he asked what was the matter, and putting the

nightgown into his hands told him to read the riddle for himself.

Of what was said between us on the beach, I have not the phanus recollection.

The first place in which I can now see myself again plainly is the plantation of furs.

Betteridge and I are walking back together to the house, and Betteridge is telling me

that I shall be able to face it, and he will be able to face it when we have had a glass

of grog.

The scene shifts from the plantation to Betteridge's little sitting room.

My resolution not to enter Rachel's house is forgotten.

I feel gratefully the coolness and shadiness and quiet of the room.

I drink the grog, a perfectly new luxury to me at that time of day, which my good old friend

mixes with icy cold water from the well.

Under any other circumstances the drink would simply stupify me.

Most things are, it strings up my nerves.

I begin to face it, as Betteridge has predicted, and Betteridge on his side begins to face

it too.

The picture which I am now presenting of myself will, I suspect, be thought a very strange

...