There were no clouds in the sky, - only a great
suffusion of crimson climbing to the zenith; against it the woods
were as black as war paint. The color faded and the night set in, a
night of no wind and of numberless stars. On the hearth burned a
fire. I left the window and sat beside it, and in the hollows between
the red embers made pictures, as I used to make them when I was
a boy.
I sat there long. It grew late, and all sounds in the town were
hushed; only now and then the "All's well!" of the watch came
faintly to my ears. Diccon lodged with me; he lay in his clothes
upon a pallet in the far corner of the room, but whether he slept or
not I did not ask. He and I had never wasted words; since chance
had thrown us together again we spoke only when occasion
required.
The fire was nigh out, and it must have been ten of the clock when,
with somewhat more of caution and less of noise than usual, the
key grated in the lock; the door opened, and the gaoler entered,
closing it noiselessly behind him. There was no reason why he
should intrude himself upon me after nightfall, and I regarded him
with a frown and an impatience that presently turned to curiosity.
He began to move about the room, making pretense of seeing that
there was water in the pitcher beside my pallet, that the straw
beneath the coverlet was fresh, that the bars of the window were
firm, and ended by approaching the fire and heaping pine upon it.
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