A lance of sunshine, piercing a crack in the old barn, struck squarely into Ben Stone’s eyes and awoke him. For a few moments he lay still without comprehending, the odor of the haymow in his nostrils; his head alone was uncovered by the hay into which the fugitives had burrowed. High up in the peak of the barn the morning light streamed in through a broken, dusty, cobwebby window; with the passing of the night the storm had passed also, and the new day was bright and fair.