things in order again, it was nearly eleven. To tell the truth, he had kept himself occupied as long as he could in an effort to ignore the fact that the storm, bad as it had been all day, was growing worse. Rain thundered on the roof of the cabin with a noise that was almost deafening, paused a moment, then came pouring down again. The windows shook and the lamp flared and flickered in the sudden gusts that seemed to be trying to snatch the little dwelling from its foundations. Once during a momentary pause in the tumult he heard the sharp crack and then the slow crashing of a tree blown down in the forest. How could a storm be so terrible and still grow ever worse? Oh, why did not Oscar come home?
He built up the dying fire and established himself in the rough armchair to wait. He blinked up at the clock; it was midnight now. In spite of his discomfort, in spite of all his anxiety and his determination to keep awake, he fell into a doze.
A sound aroused him, he had no idea just how much later. It was a strange noise at the door,
