CHAPTER XXVI.
AN ELECTRICIAN IN THE WILDERNESS.
When Cabot threw himself down on that lounge he fully intended to remain awake, or at most to take only a series of short naps, always holding himself in readiness to assist the sufferer on the opposite side of the room.

But exhausted nature proved too much for his good intentions, and he had hardly lain down before he fell into a dead, dreamless sleep that lasted for many hours.

When he next awoke it was with a start, and he sat up bewildered by the strangeness of his environment.

Daylight was streaming in at the frost-covered windows and the storm of the night before had evidently spent its fury.
Almost the first thing he saw was the tall form of his host bending feebly over the electric stove.

His face was drawn with pain, and he was so weak that he was compelled to support himself by grasping the table with one hand while with the other he stirred the contents of a simmering kettle.
"Let me do that, sir!" cried Cabot, springing to his feet.