As I was about to turn in to bed, I perceived a red glare in the sky westward, and feared it meant trouble at Sandtoft, so I lay long awake; but at length weariness overpowered me, and I slept for some hours. I awoke early, and, having dressed in a slow, fumbling way—my arm being more than usually painful—I walked out as if I sought the morning air, taking care to give no inkling of my purpose to the servants, who were already astir.
At that time of the year, the middle of August, there was choice of three modes of crossing the fen. One might pick one's way on stilts, or with cleat-boards, but in my present weakness I dared not adventure either method. The third course was to take boat at Belshaw, on a winding stream, which in the end joined the Idle a mile or so above Sandtoft. Luke had told me that the Idle was flowing again since the destruction of Vermuijden's work in the south of the Isle, so I chose the easiest, if slowest, manner of going; but when I reached the little inn at Belshaw, there was no boat to be had. Dame Drury told me their boat was at the carpenter's under repair, and the flat-bottomed punt Drury had taken out, meaning to try for half-duck and snipe, which had begun to appear in the fen. There was nothing for me but to await his return, which would be early or late, according to his luck in fowling.
While the dame got ready a breakfast for me, she chanced to make mention of her husband's cousin, who had lain at their house for a year, crippled with a kind of palsy. Half in curiosity, half in compassion, I questioned her, and learned that he was about thirty years of age, that he had inherited a moderate property on the death of his father thirteen years ago, and had gone out to see the world, seeking knowledge and adventure in many countries. Some twelve months before this time he had arrived in London, intending to visit his friends in the Isle, and then to go to Virginia to join Captain John Smith (who was a distant kinsman of the Drurys); but he had been suddenly struck down by a mysterious disease, and now lay helpless in an upper room. On my asking whether the poor fellow would welcome a visitor, she went to inquire, while I took my meal, and came back with the message that he would be very glad to receive me.
At first sight my heart warmed to him, though what was the secret of his charm for me I do not know. Do we ever know what it is which draws us toward another? He had a handsome face, but his eyes only were remarkable. The broad brow was crowned with clusters of dark hair; mouth and chin were hidden under moustachios and beard, but the eyes glowed. There was witchery in his smile, as he extended his thin hand, saying—
"This is a day to be marked with a white stone. I have often heard of you, but little expected ever to see you in my den."
I gripped the hand, with a choking in my throat to see such a man a prisoner, and said—
"If I had known, I would have come earlier."
"I thank Dame Fortune that you have come now," said he.
He had made his poor little room a wonderful place. On the walls were many sketches, pencilled from memory chiefly, as I came to know afterwards, full of life and spirit. Quaint drawings, the expression of his humorous fancy, there were also. A few well-thumbed books in several languages stood at his bed's head. On the table lay papers covered with mathematical studies. He followed my glance, and said—
"The hours are not so leaden-footed as you might fear. With books and pencil and a questioning habit of mind, one need not be idle."