Night was coming, and on the little island in the swamp it looked inexpressibly black and gloomy.

His stomach complained, but he shrugged his shoulders, acknowledging primitive necessity, and resumed his seat by the fire.
There he sat until the blanket had dried, and deep night had fully come.
In the last hour or two Henry did not move.

He remained before the fire, crouched slightly forward, while the generous heat fed the flame of life in him.

A glowing bar, penetrating the crevice at the door, fell on the earth outside, but it did not pass beyond the close group of circling trees.

The rain still fell with uncommon steadiness and persistence, but at times hail was mingled with it.