“It is I, Paganel.”
“Who?”
“Glenarvan. Come, I need your eyes.”
“My eyes,” replied Paganel, rubbing them vigorously.
“Yes, I need your eyes to make out the DUNCAN in this darkness, so come.”
“Confound the nyctalopia!” said Paganel, inwardly, though delighted to be of any service to his friend.
He got up and shook his stiffened limbs, and stretching and yawning as most people do when roused from sleep, followed Glenarvan to the beach.
Glenarvan begged him to examine the distant horizon across the sea, which he did most conscientiously for some minutes.
“Well, do you see nothing?” asked Glenarvan.
“Not a thing. Even a cat couldn’t see two steps before her.”