Nine times had the sun risen and set without the sick man's darkened spirit being conscious of it. It is true that his blinded eyes would not have told him even if he had been conscious, but the measure of time of which men have an instinctive idea would have served him even in his darkness, and have driven the tortured man home to his imperilled brethren. From time to time indeed he had roused a little, and had asked the time, but the girl--God will forgive her--had deceived him; had taken advantage of his blindness, and had made him believe he had slept but an hour, while a whole day or a whole night had gone by. She meant it well, that he might be content to rest, and not get so ill as to die. So each time he had laid his head down again, and let himself be persuaded--"till it was day"--to go no farther. And thus it had nine times been day, and nine times night. To-day for the first time the rage of his fever was subdued, and his reawakened consciousness began to light up his pale face.
"Beata, are you there?" he asked.
"Yes, master."
"I believe you have not slept the whole night through--whenever I have called you you have been awake. Is it not yet day?"
"Yes, dear master, very soon; but rest a little longer."
Donatus felt around him; he was surprised to find a soft straw-bed under him, and by his side a wall.
"Where am I?"
"In the smelter's hut; we carried you in that you might be sheltered from wind and weather."
"Then we are among men?"
"Yes, they are poor folks, but compassionate and helpful."