His words were lost in the darkness, and he lapsed into unconsciousness.
He woke some hours later, exhausted and parched with thirst. But he could not rise to seek for water, and at length he sank into a restless, feverish sleep.
Early next morning he was awakened by the entry of the farmer. At first he hardly realized where he was. He was ill, with a racking pain in his head. But he strove to appear as if nothing were amiss.
“Good morning,” said the farmer. “And how do you feel today? Was it very draughty up here?”
“Good morning. I have slept well, and I thank you.”
The farmer laughed at sight of his visitor’s face, which was plastered with scraps of hay. “You’ve enough hay about you to feed a sheep through the winter,” he said with a laugh.
Guest the One-eyed had risen. As he stepped out into the cold morning air, his teeth chattered audibly. “The sun is not up yet, it seems,” he murmured.
Never before had he so longed for the rising of the sun. He stood now staring towards the east; it seemed to him a miracle that he should be suffered to see the sun rise once more.
“The blessed sun,” he murmured to himself.