His home was dark when he reached it, though the door was left unfastened, and there was a light in the room where his sister slept--he did not attempt to mount the stairs after he had entered, for he did not wish to see his mother again that night. When he had locked the door, and made sure that everything was secure, he laid himself down on the rug with his head upon a chair, his heavy head which sank down upon the cushions as if it would never be able to raise itself again. Yet, tired as he was, at first he could not sleep, and then his sleep was confused with a strange, broken dream--he thought he was wandering on some unknown path, and that he could not be certain where it would lead. And still, as he wandered, and felt that he was lost, he could hear in the room above his sister’s tread, pacing ceaselessly up and down with restless footsteps, which seemed a part of the confusion of his dream, until, as deeper slumber closed on his fatigue, both footsteps and dream were lost in the stillness of the night--the night-time which bears on its pinions so many wandering fancies of the wandering souls soothed for a while to rest. No lasting relief can it give, and yet to men’s fierce impatience that interval of rest may not be quite in vain. CHAPTER VI THE NEXT MORNING NAT awoke the next morning, feeling sore and stiff, a feeling not uncommon with people who have spent their night on the floor; but, tired as he was, the habit induced by training made him wake with the sun as he was used to do. Even at that hour he was not the first awake, although there was no one else present in the room--a fire had been lighted, a white cloth had been laid, and his solitary breakfast was spread daintily. His mother’s hands must have been there at work, although she would not stay in the room to speak to him; but to such silent displeasure he had been long accustomed, and neither that nor the tender care astonished him. Himself so proud and reserved that it would have been difficult for him to meet her after all that had passed the night before, he was only relieved that he had not awaked when she was there, and determined to escape as soon as possible. So he made a hasty toilet with the assistance of a pail, and swallowed quickly the breakfast so carefully prepared; and, then, seizing upon his can and bag of tools, he hastened out into the cool, fresh morning air. By the evening she might choose to forget that she had been vexed, and at any rate the evening was hours away. For it is the privilege of a man to go out into the sunlight, and forget in his daily work the vexations of his home.