This deaf man hardly knows how to fire a modern revolver. It is doubtful if he could come anywhere near to a barn door in sunlight, to say nothing of the inky blackness which encompassed that house. However, he obediently put his valuables under the pillow, placed the big revolver carefully on the chair beside his bed, blew out the light and retired. In such a situation it seems to me that keen, quick ears would have been a misfortune. And this deaf man, being philosophical as well as very weary, fell asleep before he could fully realize the surrounding conditions. How long he slept he cannot now tell, but he suddenly woke with a start and sat up in bed, _knowing_ that someone was within a few feet of him. I know that both the blind and the deaf have a curious faculty of divining the presence of others in the silence of the darkness. My friend knew that somewhere in the silent darkness human beings were going through some stealthy performance. He reached for the revolver, _but the chair upon which he had placed it was not there_! As quietly as possible he groped his way to the bureau and found the matches. _But it was impossible to light them._ He scratched at least a dozen until they broke in two, but they would not ignite. The candle was in his hand, but the light within, which he craved, could not be produced. Alone in the silent blackness, a numb terror fell upon the heart of the deaf man. He was as helpless as his remote ancestor, shrinking into his primeval black cave. He was even in a worse situation, for the cave man had hearing with which to note the approach of his enemy. The modern man would not know how near was the lurking enemy until he felt the clutching hand. He dared not cry out or grope for help through that rambling house—the landlord had stipulated that questions be asked _afterward_! Finally, urged on by that mysterious instinct of the deaf, he groped his way along the hall until he reached the corner window. This he opened, and he stood there waiting for the terror to reveal itself. Suddenly he perceived that someone had passed close to him through the outside darkness—he even felt a slight movement of air as something passed by; he thought a human hand was laid on the window sill for an instant. With eyes strained to the limit of tension and ears quickened a little by terror, the deaf man realized that a door near him had gently opened. Then came a dim sound and the air waves of a struggle, and the deaf man knew that someone was creeping back past him through the darkness. As startling as would have been a nail driven into his heart came the thud and the shock of a quick blow on the side of the house nearest him—a low, stifled cry penetrated even his dull ears. Then off again crept a human form, feeling its way along the house.