Mary Warren prayed.
She paused after a long time--half-standing, a hand upon the soft-piled blankets, her eyes every way.

Yes, she was sure it was dark.

And above all things she was sure that she was weary, unutterably, unspeakably weary.

The soft warmth of the blankets about her was comforting.
Sim Gage in his own place of rest was uneasy.

Darkness came on late by the clock in that latitude.