“To see the Golden Rock,” she murmured. “At last; but at what cost of suffering!”
“What do you say about the rock?” asked Webster, sitting up suddenly.
“Are you better?” she asked gently.
“Ay, except that my head feels strangely light. Where is Hume?”
“He has been watching through the night, and is still out on the ledge.”
“Good fellow. I will take his watch when I am well.” And with a sigh he sank back on to the couch to sleep again.
A faint smile hovered about her lips, then she bound Sirayo’s damaged arm, and at last, drawing her blanket over her, she sank into a profound slumber.
On the rock above, Klaas put a bandage round his master’s injured eyes, gave him water, and made a pillow for his head. Sirayo went out on the ledge again to keep watch, bearing his injury with stoic indifference, and grimly bent on doing his duty.
“Sit with your face to the sunrise, Klaas,” whispered Hume, “and when you see the sky turn red bring your mistress here.”
“Eweh, my master.”