I, too, was busy, trying to reason out how he was aware of the existence of so intangible a thing as a shadow. If it were his eyeballs only that were affected, or if his optic nerve were not wholly destroyed, the explanation was simple. If otherwise, then the only conclusion I could reach was that the sensitive skin recognized the difference of temperature between shade and sunshine. Or, perhaps,—who can tell?—it was that fabled sixth sense which conveyed to him the loom and feel of an object close at hand. Giving over his attempt to determine the shadow, he stepped on deck and started forward, walking with a swiftness and confidence which surprised me. And still there was that hint of the feebleness of the blind in his walk. I knew it now for what it was. To my amused chagrin, he discovered my shoes on the forecastle head and brought them back with him into the galley. I watched him build the fire and set about cooking food for himself; then I stole into the cabin for my marmalade and underclothes, slipped back past the galley, and climbed down to the beach to deliver my barefoot report. CHAPTER XXXIV “It’s too bad the _Ghost_ has lost her masts. Why we could sail away in her. Don’t you think we could, Humphrey?” I sprang excitedly to my feet. “I wonder, I wonder,” I repeated, pacing up and down. Maud’s eyes were shining with anticipation as they followed me. She had such faith in me! And the thought of it was so much added power. I remembered Michelet’s “To man, woman is as the earth was to her legendary son; he has but to fall down and kiss her breast and he is strong again.” For the first time I knew the wonderful truth of his words. Why, I was living them. Maud was all this to me, an unfailing source of strength and courage. I had but to look at her, or think of her, and be strong again. “It can be done, it can be done,” I was thinking and asserting aloud. “What men have done, I can do; and if they have never done this before, still I can do it.” “What? for goodness’ sake,” Maud demanded. “Do be merciful. What is it you can do?” “We can do it,” I amended. “Why, nothing else than put the masts back into the _Ghost_ and sail away.” “Humphrey!” she exclaimed. And I felt as proud of my conception as if it were already a fact accomplished. “But how is it possible to be done?” she asked. “I don’t know,” was my answer. “I know only that I am capable of doing anything these days.” I smiled proudly at her—too proudly, for she dropped her eyes and was for the moment silent. “But there is Captain Larsen,” she objected. “Blind and helpless,” I answered promptly, waving him aside as a straw. “But those terrible hands of his! You know how he leaped across the opening of the lazarette.” “And you know also how I crept about and avoided him,” I contended gaily. “And lost your shoes.” “You’d hardly expect them to avoid Wolf Larsen without my feet inside of them.”