weariness descended upon Amber like a burden; he was afraid to close
his eyes or to sit down, lest sleep should overcome him for all his
intense excitement and anxiety. He forced himself to move steadily
round the room, struggling against a feeling that all that he had
witnessed must have been untrue, an evil dream, akin to the waking
visions that had beset him between the loss of Quain and the finding of
Rutton. The very mediocrity of the surroundings seemed to discredit the
testimony of his wits.

Unmistakably a camp erected for its owners' convenience during the
hunting season, alike in design and furnishing the cabin was almost
painfully crude and homely. The walls were of rough-hewn logs from
which the bark had not been removed; the interstices were stopped only
with coarse plaster; the partition dividing it into two rooms was of
pine, unpainted. In one corner near Rutton's trunk, a bed-hammock swung
from a beam. The few chairs were plain and rude. There were two deal
tables, a plate-rack nailed to the partition, and a wall-seat in the
chimney-corner. On the centre table, aside from the lamp, were a couple
of books, some out-of-date magazines, and a common tin alarm-clock
ticking stolidly.

In a setting so hopelessly commonplace and everyday, one act of a drama
of blood and fire had been played; into these mean premises the breath
of the storm, as the babu entered, had blown Romance.... Incredible!

And yet Amber's hand, dropping idly in his coat-pocket, encountered a
priceless witness to the reality of what had passed. Frowning,
troubled, he drew forth the ring and slipped it upon his finger; rays
of blinding emerald light coruscated from it, dazzling him. With a low
cry of wonder he took it to the lamplight. Never had he looked upon so