The sudden wailing of the stricken man drowned Tang-a-Dahit's words, and
without a word Cumner's Son turned again to the victim of the Red Plague.

All day the people watched from afar, and all day long soldiers and
hillsmen drew a wide cordon of quarantine round the house. Terror seized
the people when the sun went down, and to the watchers the suspense grew.
Ceaseless, alert, silent, they had watched and waited, and at last the
beggar knelt with his eyes fixed on the sleeper, and did not stir. A
little way off from him stood Cumner's Son-patient, pale, worn, older by
ten years than he was three days before.

In the city dismay and misery ruled. Boonda Broke and the dead Dakoon
were forgotten. The people were in the presence of a monster which could
sweep them from their homes as a hail-storm scatters the hanging nests of
wild bees. In a thousand homes little red lights of propitiation were
shining, and the sweet boolda wood was burning at a thousand shrines.
Midnight came, then the long lethargic hours after; then that moment when
all cattle of the field and beasts of the forest wake and stand upon
their feet, and lie down again, and the cocks crow, and the birds flutter
their wings, and all resign themselves to sleep once more. It was in
this hour that the sick man opened his eyes and raised his head, as
though the mysterious influence of primitive life were rousing him.
He said nothing and did nothing, but lay back and drew in a long, good
breath of air, and afterwards fell asleep.

The beggar got to his feet. "The man is safe," said he.

"I will go and tell them," said Cumner's Son gladly, and he made as if to
open the door.