The light from the dying fire played fitfully upon Jane’s face, and a smile, serene as in her happiest moments, gave meaning to the flitting shadows. Beside her, motionless as fallen statues, lay the stern, impassive forms of her captors; but Edgar knew too well that, rigid as they seemed, profoundly as they slept, the slightest noise would rouse them to a dangerous vigilance. Three of them lay between her and him—and two were near enough to grasp her, should she rise. But he gazed upon her face once more, beautiful in the holy calm of sleep—as tranquil as a summer sky. The impulse which had led him thus almost within arm’s length of her, slowly shaped itself into a purpose—the vague attraction settled into conscious resolution. He began to move cautiously to the left, around the sleeping circle, within the deeper shadows of the grove, from tree to tree, toward that beneath which Jane was slumbering. Nearer, step by step, and silently as the closing in of night, he approached like a shadow. He was now within the influence of the light, and but one tree stood between him and that which he was endeavoring to reach. A breathless pause, during which he gazed upon the form of every sleeper—they were apparently as unconscious, as if each had been a corpse. And yet, how fearful was the risk at every step. The slightest rustle of a bush, the breaking of a twig, even the grating of his feet upon the gravel, might awake his enemies—and then farewell all hope of rescue! But his was not a nature to shrink from danger. Cautiously drawing the ramrod from his rifle, he took the irrevocable step. Swiftly, but silently, he glided from one tree to the other. Within four feet of him lay Jane, in profound and tranquil sleep, her head resting upon her arm, and one hand extended toward him; while on each side of her, but still nearer than he, her captors were ready to awake at the first movement.