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. Henry could not remember in his
experience a more desolate night. It seemed that the whole world dwelt
in perpetual darkness, and that he was the only living being on it.
Yet within the four or five feet square of the hut it was warm
and bright, and he was not unhappy.

He would forget the pangs of hunger, and, wrapping himself in the dry
blanket, he lay down before the bed of coals, having first raked ashes
over them, and he slept one of the soundest sleeps of his life. All
night long, the dull cold rain fell, and with it, at intervals, came
gusts of hail that rattled like bird shot on the bark walls of the hut.
Some of the white pellets blew in at the door, and lay for a moment or
two on the floor, then melted in the glow of the fire, and were gone.

But neither wind, rain nor hail awoke Henry. He was as safe, for the
time, in the hut on the islet, as if he were in the fort at Pittsburgh
or behind the palisades at Wareville. Dawn came, the sky still heavy and
dark with clouds, and the rain still falling.

Henry, after his first sense of refreshment and pleasure, became
conscious of a fierce hunger that no amount of the will could now keep
quiet. His was a powerful system, needing much nourishment, and he must
eat. That hunger became so great that it was acute physical pain. He
was assailed by it at all points, and it could be repelled by only one
thing, food. He must go forth, taking all risks, and seek it.

He put on fresh wood, covering it with ashes in order that it might not
blaze too high, and left the islet. The stepping stones were slippery
with water, and his moccasins soon became soaked again, but he forgot
the cold and wet in that ferocious hunger, the attacks of which became
more violent every minute. He was hopeful that he might see