He said no more, but his eyes watched her move about with a kind of tired curiosity. He smiled for a time at the sun, and shut his eyes, and still faintly smiling, lay still. She had a curious fear that if she tried to talk to him this new lucidity would vanish again. She went about the business of the morning, glancing at him ever and again, until suddenly the calm of his upturned face smote her, and she ran to him and crouched down to him between hope and a terrible fear, and found that he was sleeping, and breathing very lightly, sleeping with the deep unconsciousness of a child.... When he awakened the sun was red in the west. His eyes met hers, and he seemed a little puzzled. "I've been sleeping, Madge?" he said. She nodded. "And dreaming? I've a vague sort of memory of preaching and preaching in a kind of black, empty place, where there wasn't anything.... A fury of exposition ... a kind of argument.... I say!--Is there such a thing in the world as a new-laid egg--and some bread-and-butter?" He seemed to reflect. "Of course," he said, "I broke my leg. Gollys! I thought that beast was going to claw my eyes out. Lucky, Madge, it didn't get my eyes. It was just a chance it didn't." He stared at her. "I say," he said, "you've had a pretty rough time! How long has this been going on?" He amazed her by rising himself on his elbow and sitting up. "Your leg!" she cried. He put his hand down and felt it. "Pretty stiff," he said. "You get me some food--there _were_ some eggs, Madge, frozen new-laid, anyhow--and then we'll take these splints off and feel about a bit. Eh! why not? How did you get me out of that scrape, Madge? I thought I'd got to be froze as safe as eggs. (Those eggs ought to be all right, you know. If you put them on in a saucepan and wait until they boil.) I've a sort of muddled impression.... By Jove, Madge, you've had a time! I say you _have_ had a time!" His eyes, full of a warmth of kindliness she had not seen for long weeks, scrutinized her face. "I say!" he repeated, very softly. All her strength went from her at his tenderness. "Oh, my dear," she wailed, kneeling at his side, "my dear, dear!" and still regardful of his leg, she yet contrived to get herself weeping into his coveted arms. He regarded her, he held her, he patted her back! The infinite luxury to her! He'd come back. He'd come back to her. "How long has it been?" he asked. "Poor dear! Poor dear! How long can it have been?" § 12