But he became slowly conscious that he had emerged from somewhere out of a vast darkness, and that he had returned to his life in the dungeon under the sea.
His eyes opened fully by automatic process rather than by will, and the heavy dark of the dungeon was grateful then, because they, too, like all the rest of him, were very weak.

Yet a little light came in as usual with the fresh air from above, and by and by he lifted one hand and looked at it.

It was a strange hand, very white, very thin, with the blue veins standing out from the back.
It was almost the hand of a skeleton.

He did not know it.

Certainly it did not belong to him.