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Certainly a gray mist
swirled before my eyes, and when it cleared I found my collar-
ends undone and the tingling after-taste of brandy upon my lips.
Holmes was bending over my chair, his flask in his hand.
"My dear Watson," said the well-remembered voice, "I owe
you a thousand apologies. I had no idea that you would be so
affected."
I gripped him by the arms.
"Holmes!" I cried. "Is it really you? Can it indeed be that
you are alive? Is it possible that you succeeded in climbing out
of that awful abyss?"
"Wait a moment," said he. "Are you sure that you are really
fit to discuss things? I have given you a serious shock by my
unnecessarily dramatic reappearance."
"I am all right, but indeed, Holmes, I can hardly believe my
eyes. Good heavens! to think that you -- you of all men -- should
be standing in my study." Again I gripped him by the sleeve,
and felt the thin, sinewy arm beneath it. "Well, you're not a
spirit, anyhow," said I. "My dear chap, I'm overjoyed to see
you. Sit down, and tell me how you came alive out of that
dreadful chasm.


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