We divided it without a word, and ate like famished dogs.

And all the time the old man chaunted "Blight him!" with fervour, and drank every now and then from the bottle.

We drank too as we ate, but sparingly, lest our heads should go completely, though we could not believe such hospitality a trap.
It was a nightmare ending to a nightmare journey, but for the moment we had food and shelter and we asked no more.

When we had eaten we curled ourselves up on the floor and slept, with "Blight him! Blight him! Blight him!" dying in our ears.
I must have slept a long time, for when I woke I felt almost myself again.
I had dim remembrances of half-wakings, in which I had seen the old man still crouching over his smouldering fire muttering his usual curse.

But now he was gone, and Le Marchant and I had the place to ourselves, and presently Le Marchant stretched and yawned, and sat up blinking at the smoke.
"Where is the old one ?" he asked.