He spread upon the floor a thick rug and a heavy blanket, placing one end over the saddle to serve as pillow, and as he lay before the dying fire he seemed to take scant heed of the vigil of the silent, watchful Baintree, still erect in his chair, and still smoking his pipe. Only once the young townsman stirred after he lay down. “How good the rain sounds on the roof,” he said drowsily. A few moments afterward he was doubtless asleep—a sound, dreamless slumber, the close counterfeit of death, motionless, silent, deep. Nevertheless Jake Baintree hardly felt sure of its genuineness until after he had arisen and arranged his own pallet with some unnecessary stir, that might have seemed an experiment to judge if the sleeper would rouse again on any slight provocation. Then he sat down once more and meditatively eyed the red embers, dwindling, still dwindling in the white and gray ashes. The monotone of the rain still beat on the roof; he heard the wind from far away; the vague stir of the crumbling fire was distinguishable, although it might seem so fine and subtle a rustle would have been lost in the sound of aught else. The muffled figure on the floor was still discernible in the red glow; even the yellow hair showed in a dull gleam amidst the umber tones of the shadows. Jake Baintree’s eyes were upon it as with a careful hand he reached into a crevice of the jamb of the chimney and drew forth something that had a sudden steely glitter even in the semi-obscurity, and laid it cautiously on his knee. He did not move for some time afterward, although in the increasing dusk his shadowy figure could hardly have been distinguished from the inanimate shadows about him. Presently his hands were moving softly to and fro with swift, industrial intentness. Even the embers seemed to cling to life and yield it with the reluctance and vacillating struggle pathetically typical of the passing of human breath. Their sparkle, and verve, and flamboyant energies were all spent, but suddenly they sent forth an unexpected red glow, strong in the midst of the ashes, that was like the transitory revival in the last flickering moments of a doomed creature.