it. But in the extraordinary silence of that still place I could hear her
soft breathing not far away, and I lay a long time listening to it. It was
so calm and regular and trustful, as though no harmful and threatening
things were in the world, that it woke a new spirit of confident hope in
me, and I lay and listened, and thought sweet warm thoughts of her.

It seemed a long time, and yet not one whit too long, before the soft
breathing lost its evenness, and at last I could not hear it at all, and
knew she was waking. And presently she stirred, and after a time she said
softly--

"Phil ... are you awake?"

"Yes, my dear," I said, sitting up, and feeling first for her, for love of
the feel of her, and then in my pockets for my flint and steel.

"How still it is, and how very dark!" she whispered.

"I'll soon see how you're looking;" and my sparks caught in the tinder and
I lit a candle.

"You slept very sound," said she, blinking at the light.

"I had not slept for nearly ninety hours, and they had held more for me
than any ninety weeks before. But it was rude of me to go off like that and
leave you all alone."

"You could no more help it than I can help being very hungry. You have
slept three days and three nights, I believe. I wonder George Hamon is not
back for us."