CHAPTER VIII
A NIGHT'S LODGING
IT had been the intense darkness of the night outside that had made the cabin window look bright, for the room into which Hugh came was lit only by a dying fire. Close to the hearth a big chair had been drawn and in this some one was sitting, some one who whispered and muttered to himself and stirred uneasily but did not look round. Nicholas ran to him and began licking the thin hand that hung limply over the arm of the chair. A lantern stood on the table, but it had evidently burned out. A canvas pack, half-emptied, with its blankets trailing out upon the floor, lay on a bench. It was quite evident that, besides the man in the chair, there was no one in the cabin.
Hugh went over to him, but still he did not look
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