The thick utterance proceeded in a muffled fashion from where his face
grovelled against her dress. Its despairing accents appealed to her, but
even more was she touched by the ungainly figure he made, sprawling on
the carpet.

"Well, since you are out, stay out," she answered, as reassuringly as
she could. "But get up and take a seat here beside me, like a sensible
man, and tell me all about it. Come! I insist!"

In obedience to her tone, and the sharp tug at his shoulder with which
she emphasized it, he got slowly to his feet, and listlessly seated
himself on the sofa to which she pointed. He hung his head, and began
catching his breath with a periodical gasp, half hiccough, half sob.

"First of all," she said, in her brisk, matter-of-fact manner, "don't
you want to lie down there again, and have me tuck you up snug with the
buffalo robe, and go to sleep? That would be the best thing you could
do."

He shook his head disconsolately, from side to side. "I can't!" he
groaned, with a swifter recurrence of the sob-like convulsions. "I'm
dying for sleep, but I'm too--too frightened!"

"Come, I'll sit beside you till you drop off," she said, with masterful
decision. He suffered himself to be pushed into recumbency on the couch,
and put his head with docility on the pillow she brought from the spare
room. When she had spread the fur over him, and pushed her chair close
to the sofa, she stood by it for a little, looking down in meditation at
his demoralized face. Under the painful surface-blur of wretchedness