“I suppose he must be lying on his back,” I remember thinking; and directly after, as it seemed to me, when I looked at Gunson, whose figure just before stood out big and black before the glowing fire, he was not there.
I think I considered it rather strange, but I was under the impression directly after that he had lain down too. Then there was a low, dull, humming sound, which I knew came from the river, and then I was looking up at Gunson, who was standing over me, with the fire lighting him on one side, and the broad, warm glow of the rising sun on the other.
Chapter Twenty One.
Our Morning Bath.
“Well, have you had a good night’s rest?” cried Gunson, smiling at me.
“Have—have I been asleep?” I said, sitting up.
“Asleep? Yes, for a good eight hours. There, tumble up. Your washhand-basin is waiting for you. Now, Dean,” he continued, touching him with his foot, “are you going to lie there all day?”
“Don’t—I say, be quiet. I’ve only just closed my eyes. Why! Eh? If it ain’t to-morrow morning!”