Nathaniel's head hung heavily upon his breast and he made no effort to raise it.

All ambition and desire had left him, all desire but one, and that was to drop upon the ground and lie there for endless, restful years.

What consciousness was left in him was ebbing swiftly; he saw black, fathomless night about him and the earth seemed slipping from under his feet.
A voice dragged him back into life--a voice that boomed in his ears like rolling thunder and set every fiber in him quivering with emotion.

He drew himself erect with the involuntary strength of one mastering the last spasm of death and as they dragged him through the door he saw there within an arm's reach of him the great, living face of Strang, gloating at him as if from out of a mist--red eyed, white fanged, filled with the vengefulness of a beast.
The great voice rumbled in his ears again.
"Take that man to the dungeon!".