Amid frequent and thoughtful endeavors to remember; amid earnest
struggles to regather some token of the state of seeming nothingness
into which my soul had lapsed, there have been moments when I have
dreamed of success; there have been brief, very brief periods when I
have conjured up remembrances which the lucid reason of a later
epoch assures me could have had reference only to that condition of
seeming unconsciousness. These shadows of memory tell, indistinctly,
of tall figures that lifted and bore me in silence down --down --still
down --till a hideous dizziness oppressed me at the mere idea of the
interminableness of the descent. They tell also of a vague horror at
my heart, on account of that heart's unnatural stillness. Then comes a
sense of sudden motionlessness throughout all things; as if those
who bore me (a ghastly train!) had outrun, in their descent, the
limits of the limitless, and paused from the wearisomeness of their
toil. After this I call to mind flatness and dampness; and then all is
madness --the madness of a memory which busies itself among
forbidden things.
Very suddenly there came back to my soul motion and sound --the
tumultuous motion of the heart, and, in my ears, the sound of its
beating.
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