CHAPTER XXVI.
AS TWILIGHT FELL.
For more than twenty-four hours I had taken no repose, and as nothing occurred to rouse me, I slept longer than I intended. When I opened my eyes languidly the room was so dark that I could scarcely make out a chair against the wall, and the window-panes were crusted with frost and snow. At once I was wide awake, and all the incidents of the morning flashed into my mind. I knew that this was the time when the attack was expected, and for a moment I sat up and listened anxiously, but I heard only a distant hum of voices.
“All is well so far,” I thought. “I hope no precautions have been neglected, for when the storm bursts it will be sudden and fierce.”
I threw off the blankets that covered me, and leaped out of bed. Hastily donning my fur capote, cap and mittens, and taking my loaded musket, I left the quarters without encountering any person.
I paused outside to look about, and the scene that met my eyes was a dreary one. The inclosure was shrouded in the murky gray gloom of twilight. It was bitterly cold, and snow was falling fast. The various outbuildings loomed dimly here and there between the narrow paths and high-banked drifts. The only ray of light visible was behind me, and shone from the window of Flora’s room. As I turned from a brief contemplation of it, I saw a man passing and hailed him. He proved to be Baptiste.
“Why was I not wakened?” I demanded sharply. “Here is the night upon us, and I wished to be up at noon.”
“Mr. Menzie’s orders, sir,” he replied. “He said you were not to be disturbed.”
I questioned Baptiste further, and learned that there had been no alarm during the day, and that not an Indian had shown himself. He also relieved my mind concerning the preparations for holding the factor’s house.
“They moved everything in,” he said; “food and blankets, all the powder and ball, four sledges, and the wounded men.”