By the empty
chimney-place he sat down, thankful that at least the bitter gale no
longer buffeted him. But the snow fell thick and fast, eddying into
every corner, gently covering his feet and stealing up over his body. A
drowsy languor crept over his senses, an irresistible feeling of warmth
and comfort came to him; his head fell forward. Again and again, knowing
the deadly peril, he roused himself with ever-increasing effort; again
and again his head sank. Then suddenly it seemed that all was well. How
_could_ he have fancied that he was out amongst the snow? The sound of
the gale still thundered in his ears, but dully, muffled by thick walls,
and he stood in a bedroom wherein burned a cheerful fire. On the bed lay
a man, who presently, with a start, sat up, looked at him, and lay down
again. Three times this happened, but the fourth time the man in bed got
up and hurriedly began to dress. He was a man unknown to the dreamer--if
dreaming he was--but his features were strongly marked, and bore a
scar on the cheek, unmistakable to anyone who had once seen it. Then,
suddenly, except for himself, the room was empty, and, as the dreamer in
his dream strove to reach the fire, to thrust cold hands close to the
pleasant glow, room and fire faded, and he knew no more till a bright
light shone in his dazed eyes, and by his side, a hand on his shoulder,
vigorously shaking him, knelt the man whom he had seen in his dreams.
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