The moon had set; and the world was very still. The crackling of the fire and the hiss that went with it were the only audible sounds. Animal noises had ceased. A far, faint breeze stirred the tree-tops; but there was no suggestion of the fierce rains of the previous day. The whole sky was softly luminous with waning moon-light and the redoubled splendor of stars. Far below, the valleys and the base of the hills were lightly swathed in mist. Peace brooded over the great Vindhyas; and gradually Oman’s horror was swept away. The sweet night air cooled his frame and dried the tears that had wet his face. Weariness overcame his excitement at the events of the day and night; and he fell into a kind of stupor. He was not asleep, for he was still conscious of the workings of nature:—the setting of the moon, the dark hour, the dying glow of the fire, whose work was done, and the heavy wheeling through the sky of two or three night birds. His brain, however, was numb. He neither thought, nor felt the desire to think. His head rested against the rock, and his eyes closed. An hour passed; and, by degrees, the darkness gave way to a faint, shadowy light. The night was over. Day was at hand. In this first grayness, Oman lifted his head and opened his eyes. Then he rose and looked down to the wood, where the fire had been. For a moment he hesitated, but finally turned away. He could not go there yet. For a few moments he paced up and down the broad, treeless space on the height, and then returned to his rock, and set his face to the wondrous east. The far horizon was streaked with palest rose and yellow, melting into a shadowy sky. Above this bed of color, the starry rushlights one by one melted away. Only the morning star, the jewel in Ushas’ frontlet, remained, flashing in the now deepening crimson, till Ushas herself, having opened the sun-gates, passed from the sky and returned into the land of the gods. The colors were intensified as new light crept up the heavens; and above the gold was a band of pale, clear green that merged softly into the upper blue. Now, down the slope, and over all the wooded hillsides, rose a musical murmur, the song of waking things: birds, and insects. And fearlessly they performed the morning hymn, undisturbed by any thought of man. By now the creatures of the jungle had returned to their lairs, the night’s prowling ended; and the world was waking from dread to the joy of new day.