He dreams that the footsteps die away into distance of time and of space, and that something touches him, and that something falls from his hand.

Then something clinks and gropes about, and he dreams that he is alone for so long a time, that the lanes of light take new directions as the moon advances in her course.

From succeeding unconsciousness he passes into a dream of slow uneasiness from cold; and painfully awakes to a perception of the lanes of light--really changed, much as he had dreamed--and Jasper walking among them, beating his hands and feet.
'Holloa!' Durdles cries out, unmeaningly alarmed.
'Awake at last ?' says Jasper, coming up to him.

'Do you know that your forties have stretched into thousands ?' 'No.' 'They have though.' 'What's the time ?' 'Hark! The bells are going in the Tower!' They strike four quarters, and then the great bell strikes.
'Two!' cries Durdles, scrambling up; 'why didn't you try to wake me, Mister Jarsper ?' 'I did.

I might as well have tried to wake the dead--your own family of dead, up in the corner there.' 'Did you touch me ?' 'Touch you! Yes.