It suddenly dawned upon me that I was the subject under discussion.
Presently a man entered the room, by his dress evidently a shepherd. I asked where I was. He told me to "Keep quiet, as I was perfectly safe."
"How long have I been here?"
"Three weeks."
"What has been the matter?"
"Brain fever. The doctor will be here shortly, do not talk until he comes."
When the doctor came he told me I had had a very narrow escape.
The shepherds had found me, brought me here, and I had been insensible and delirious in turns for weeks; raving about being buried alive, large serpents, phosphorescent bodies, baboons, and caves.
I found this place was on the opposite side of Mount Epomeo from Casamicciola. There had been a great earthquake, only one house in the whole town of Casamicciola had been left standing.
Thousands of lives had been lost, how many was not yet known.
The doctor asked me how I came to have on my pyjamas. And when I told him how I had been buried alive, he smiled and left the room.
He returned soon, carrying a glass in his hand. I drank the contents, and, soon feeling drowsy, sank into a refreshing sleep.
