It suited the outcast's lazy philosophy.
He crept back again to his bed in the hollow and slept.

In that profound silence and shadow, shut out from human association and sympathy by the ghostly fog, what torturing visions conjured up by remorse and fear should have pursued him?
What spirit passed before him, or slowly shaped itself out of the infinite blackness of the wood?
None.

As he slipped gently into that blackness he remembered with a slight regret, some biscuits that were dropped from the coach by a careless luncheon-consuming passenger.

That pang over, he slept as sweetly, as profoundly, as divinely, as a child..