Caleb and Deborah went to bed, and Ephraim could hear his father's snores and his mother's heavy breathing from a distant room.

Ephraim could not go to sleep.

He lay there and longed for the frosty night air, the sled, and the swift flight down the white hill as never lover longed for his mistress.
At half-past ten o'clock Ephraim rose up.

He dressed himself in the moonlight--all except his shoes; those he carried in his hand--and stole out in his stocking-feet to the entryway, where his warm coat and cap, which he so seldom wore, hung.

Ephraim pulled the cap over his ears, put on the coat, cautiously unbolted the door, and stepped forth like a captive from prison.
He sat down on the doorstep and put on his shoes, tying them with trembling, fumbling fingers.