So composing himself he took all chances and
sought slumber. Yet it needed a great effort of the will to calm
his nerves, and it was a half hour before he began to feel any of
the soothing effect that precedes sleep. But fall asleep he did
at last, and, despite everything, he slept soundly until the
morning.
Henry did not awake to a bright day. The sun had risen, but it
was obscured by gray clouds, and the whole heavens were somber.
A cold wind began to blow, and with it came drops of rain. He
shivered despite the enfolding blanket. The coming of the
morning had invariably brought cheerfulness and increase of
spirits, but now he felt depression. He foresaw heavy rain
again, and it would destroy any but the deepest trail. Moreover,
his supplies of food were exhausted and he must replenish them in
some manner before proceeding further.
A spirit even as bold and strong as Henry's might well have
despaired. He had found his comrades, only to lose them again,
and the danger that had threatened them, and the elements as
well, now threatened him, too. An acute judge of sky and air, he
knew that the rain, cold, insistent, penetrating, would fall all
day, and that he must seek shelter if he would keep his strength.
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