He was left standing in a place of desolation, utterly and terribly alone.
* * * * * A trickle of cold water ran down Tudor's chin.

He put up a hesitating, groping hand, and opened his eyes.
He was lying in the arm-chair before the fire in which he had spent the evening.

The light danced before him in blurred flashes.
"Hullo!" he muttered thickly.

"I've been asleep." He remained passive for a few moments, trying, not very successfully, to collect his scattered senses.

Then, with an effort that seemed curiously laboured, he slowly sat up.