“Good; now turn my face to the Shutter. Be sure and exact. So. Do I face it full?”
“Full,” said Cary.
“Then I need no eyes wherewith to see what is before me,” said he, with a sad smile. “I know every stone and every headland, and every wave too, I may say, far beyond aught that eye can reach. Now go, and leave me alone with God and with the dead!”
They retired a little space and watched him. He never stirred for many minutes; then leaned his elbows on his knees, and his head upon his hands, and so was still again. He remained so long thus, that the pair became anxious, and went towards him. He was asleep, and breathing quick and heavily.
“He will take a fever,” said Brimblecombe, “if he sleeps much longer with his head down in the sunshine.”
“We must wake him gently if we wake him at all.” And Cary moved forward to him.
As he did so, Amyas lifted his head, and turning it to right and left, felt round him with his sightless eyes.
“You have been asleep, Amyas.”
“Have I? I have not slept back my eyes, then. Take up this great useless carcase of mine, and lead me home. I shall buy me a dog when I get to Burrough, I think, and make him tow me in a string, eh? So! Give me your hand. Now march!”
His guides heard with surprise this new cheerfulness.