But the frenzy passed,
and he fell into a sleep which was only a succession of bad
dreams. He was running the gauntlet again among the Shawnees.
Again, kneeling to drink at the clear pool, he saw in the water
the shadow of the triumphant warrior holding the tomahawk above
him. One after another the most critical periods of his life
were lived over again, and then he sank into a deep torpor, from
which he did not rouse himself until far into the next day.
Henry was conscious that he was very weak, but he seemed to have
regained much of his lost will. He looked once more at the fatal
left ankle. It had improved greatly. He could even stand upon
it, but when he rose to his feet he felt a singular dizziness.
Again, what he had gained in one way he had lost in another. The
earth wavered. The smooth surface of the lake seemed to rise
swiftly, and then to sink as swiftly. The far slope down which
he had shot rose to the height of miles. There was a pale tinge,
too, over the world. He sank down, not because of his ankle, but
because he was afraid his dizzy head would make him fall.
The power of will slipped away again for a minute or two. He was
ashamed of such extraordinary weakness.
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