undressed him, and rubbed his limbs with whiskey. Then, a large bowl of
coffee having been administered, he was placed in bed, covered with half
a dozen blankets, and the curtains were drawn over the windows. In a few
minutes he was plunged in a slumber almost as profound as that of the
death from which he had been so miraculously delivered.

It was two hours past noon when he awoke, and he no sooner fully
comprehended the situation and learned how the time had sped, than he
insisted on rising, although still sore, weak, and feverish. The good
farmer's wife had kept a huge portion of dinner hot before the fire, and
he knew that without compelling a show of appetite, he would not be
considered sufficiently recovered to leave. He had but one desire,--to
return home. So recently plucked from the jaws of Death, his life still
seemed to be an uncertain possession.

Finally Roger was led forth, quiet and submissive as of old,--having
forgotten his good deed as soon as it had been accomplished,--and
Gilbert, wrapped in the farmer's cloak, retraced his way to the main
road. As he looked across the meadow, which told of the inundation in
its sweep of bent, muddy grass, and saw, between the creekbank trees,
the lodged timber to which he had clung, the recollection of the night
impressed him like a frightful dream. It was a bright, sharp, wintry
day,--the most violent contrast to that which had preceded it. The hills
on either side, whose outlines he could barely guess in the darkness,
now stood out from the air with a hard, painful distinctness; the sky
was an arch of cold, steel-tinted crystal; and the north wind blew with
a shrill, endless whistle through the naked woods.

As he climbed the long hill west of Chadd's Ford, Gilbert noticed how
the meadow on his right had been torn by the flood gathered from the