match followed by the pop of a gas-ring, and half-closing my eyes I
lay back in serene and silent contentment.

I was aroused by the chink of a spoon, and the splash of something
liquid being poured out. Then I saw my host coming towards me,
carrying a large steaming china bowl in his hand.

"Here you are," he said. "Do you think you can manage to feed
yourself?"

I didn't trouble to answer. I just seized the cup and spoon, and the
next moment I was wolfing down a huge mouthful of warm bread and milk
that seemed to me the most perfect thing I had ever tasted. It was
followed rapidly by another and another, all equally beautiful.

My host stood by watching me with a sort of half-amused interest.

"I shouldn't eat it quite so fast," he observed. "It will do you more
good if you take it slowly."

The first few spoonfuls had already partly deadened my worst pangs,
so following his advice I slackened down the pace to a somewhat more
normal level. Even then I emptied the bowl in what I think must
have been a record time, and with a deep sigh I handed it to him to
replenish.

I was feeling better--distinctly better. The food, the rest in the
chair, and the comparative warmth of the room were all doing me good
in their various ways, and for the first time I was beginning to
realize clearly where I was and what had happened.