His head was resting upon the damp bark of the trimmed branch, when it might have been close to that whiteness which he had seen through the window.
True; but his soul was saved.
He awoke, hearing the sound of voices around him.
The cold light of a gray, damp day was struggling with the light that came from a fire of faggots just outside, and the shed was filled with the smoke of the burning wood. The sound of the crackling of the small branches came to his ears with the sound of the voices.
He raised his head, and looked around him in a dazed way. He did not realize for some time the strange position in which he found himself. Suddenly he seemed to recall all that had occurred, and once more he said, “Thank God, thank God!”
Three men were standing in the shed before him. Two of them held bill-hooks in a responsible way; the third had the truncheon of a constable. He also wore the helmet of a constable.
The men with the bill-hooks seemed preparing to repel a charge. They stood shoulder to shoulder with their implements breast high.
The man with the truncheon seemed willing to trust a great deal to them, whether in regard to attack or defence.
“Well, you’re awake, my gentleman,” said the man with the truncheon.
The speech seemed a poor enough accompaniment to such a show of strength, aggressive or defensive, as was the result of the muster in the shed.