In the frigid heavens, a billion stars shone like golden, emotionless eyes. Behind him lay the icy Saskatchewan, with a few scattered lights visible where Prince Albert came down to the river half a mile away. He was feeling unusual sensations within, but he grinned on the outside as he imagined what Van Horn would say if he understood the situation. Howland's first vision of returning consciousness was a red, unwinking eye staring at him fixedly from out of impenetrable gloom–an ogreish, gleaming thing that brought life back into him with a thrill of horror. It was a ball of yellow light that appeared to burn into his own soul and was directly in front of him, level with his face. He attempted to scream, but nothing came out; instead, he made an effort to shift and extricate himself. He sped out after her in an instant, leaving Jean beside the table. Only the grey morning gloom could be seen beyond the door, but it was enough for him to make out the form of the girl he loved, who was half turned and half waiting for him.
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