I was in a large hut, falling at the sides to within two feet of the floor; but there were no hammocks in it, nor bows and spears, and no skins, not even under me, for I was lying on straw mats.

I could hear the storm still raging outside; the rush and splash of rain, and, at intervals, the distant growl of thunder.

There was wind, too; I listened to it sobbing in the trees, and occasionally a puff found its way in, and blew up the white ashes at the old man's feet, and shook the yellow flames like a flag.

I remembered now how the storm began, the wild girl, the snake-bite, my violent efforts to find a way out of the woods, and, finally, that leap from the bank where recollection ended.

That I had not been killed by the venomous tooth, nor the subsequent fearful fall, seemed like a miracle to me.