It seemed that when he lay down and drew his blanket over him the action was the last before utter prostration.
He stretched inert, wet, hot, his body one great strife of throbbing, stinging nerves and bursting veins.

And there he lay for a long while before he felt that he had begun to rest.
Rest came to him that night, but no sleep.

Sleep he did not want.

The hours of strained effort were now as if they had never been, and he wanted to think.

Earlier in the day he had dismissed an inexplicable feeling of change; but now, when there was no longer demand on his cunning and strength and he had time to think, he could not catch the illusive thing that had sadly perplexed as well as elevated his spirit.
Above him, through a V-shaped cleft in the dark rim of the cliff, shone the lustrous stars that had been his lonely accusers for a long, long year.