Quite gone was all the plaster, as by magic. Here or there a heap of
whitish dust betrayed where some of its detritus still lay.

Gone was every picture, chart, and map--which--but an hour since, it
seemed to her--had decked this office of Allan Stern, consulting
engineer, this aerie up in the forty-eighth story of the Metropolitan
Tower.

Furniture, there now was none. Over the still-intact glass of the
windows cobwebs were draped so thickly as almost to exclude the light
of day--a strange, fly-infested curtain where once neat green
shade-rollers had hung.

Even as the bewildered girl sat there, lips parted, eyes wide with
amaze, a spider seized his buzzing prey and scampered back into a hole
in the wall.

A huge, leathery bat, suspended upside down in the far corner, cheeped
with dry, crepitant sounds of irritation.

Beatrice rubbed her eyes.

"What?" she said, quite slowly. "Dreaming? How singular! I only wish I
could remember this when I wake up. Of all the dreams I've ever had,
this one's certainly the strangest. So real, so vivid! Why, I could
swear I was awake--and yet--"

All at once a sudden doubt flashed into her mind. An uneasy expression
dawned across her face. Her eyes grew wild with a great fear; the fear
of utter and absolute incomprehension.