Alas! Who can he be, who on a night like this, And on this night, of all nights in the year, Holds to the highway, homeless? _Prudence_. Probably Some neighbor, started from his home in quest Of a physician; or, more likely still, Some poor inebriate, sadly overcome By his sad keeping of the holiday. I hope they'll give him quarters in the barn; If he sleep here, there'll be no sleep for me. _Patience_. I'll not believe it was a man at all; David and Ruth are always seeing things That no one else sees. _Ruth_. I see plainly now What we shall all see plainly, soon enough. The man is dead, and they are bearing him As if he were a log. Quick! Stir the fire, And clear the settle! We must lay him there. I will bring cordials, and flannel stuffs With which to chafe him; open wide the door. [_The men enter bearing a body apparently lifeless, which they lay upon the settle.] _David_. Now do my bidding, orderly and swift; And we may save from death a fellow-man. Peter, relieve him of those frozen shoes, And wrap his feet in flannel. This way, Ruth! Administer that cordial yourself. John, you are strong, and that rough hand of yours Will chafe him well. Work with a will, I say! * * * * * My hand is on his heart, and I can feel Both warmth and motion. If we persevere, He will be saved. Work with a will, I say! * * * * * A groan? Ha! That is good. Another groan? Better and better! _Ruth_. It is down at last!-- A spoonful of the cordial. His breath Comes feebly, but is warm upon my hand. _David_. Give him brisk treatment, and persistent, too; And we shall be rewarded presently, For there is life in him. * * * * * He moves his lips And tries to speak. * * * * * And now he opes his eyes. What eyes! How wandering and wild they are! [_To the stranger_.] We are your friends. We found you overcome By the cold storm without, and brought you in. We are your friends, I say; so be at ease, And let us do according to your need. What is your wish? _Stranger_. My friends? O God in Heaven! They've cheated me! I'm in the hospital. Oh, it was cruel to deceive me thus! No, you are not my friends. What bitter pain Racks my poor body! _David_. Poor man, how he raves! Let us be silent while the warmth and wine Provoke his sluggish blood to steady flow, And each dead sense comes back to life again, O'er the same path of torture which it trod When it went out from him. He'll slumber soon, And, when he wakens, we may talk with him. _Prudence_.