A breeze sprang up, and the freshness of the morning was in it. Would the sun ever rise again? Was not Nature so out of joint that nothing familiar could be looked for any more? The terrors of the long night inspired morbid thoughts, which come too readily in darkness.
At the appointed time, however, there was a glow in the east, which steadily deepened in color. Truly, to the weary, haggard, shivering, half-clad watchers, the sun was an angel of light that morning; and never did fire-worshippers greet his rise with a deeper feeling of gratitude and gladness.
There was a general stir in the strange bivouac, an increased murmur of voices. The hymns of the negroes gradually ceased; and people, singly or in groups, began to leave the square for their homes, in order to clothe themselves more fully, and to discover what was left to them in the general wreck.
There had been no shock since the convulsion at half-past two o'clock, the fact inspiring general confidence that the worst was over. Hope grew stronger with the blessed light, and fear vanished with the darkness.
Mr. Houghton touched his son, who immediately awoke, meditating deeds of hospitality. "Father," he said, "our house is near. Cannot I, with the aid of Jube and Sam, get our friends some breakfast?"
"Yes, George, and extend the invitation from me."
"Oh, father! I'm so grateful that you are giving me this chance to—to—"
"You shall have all the chance you wish. In fact, I'm rather inclined to see what I can do myself. I may need a good deal of nursing." And the old man's face was lighted up with a kindly smile, which made his son positively happy.
Approaching Bodine, he asked, "Do you think it will be safe for the invalids to leave the square?"
"I scarcely think so," was the reply. "At least, not until more time passes without disturbance. From what I've read of earthquakes, our houses may be unsafe for days to come."