ne looking forward the
length of the schooner, or staring, rather, for his eyes were fixed and
unblinking. I was only five feet away and directly in what should have
been his line of vision. It was uncanny. I felt myself a ghost, what of
my invisibility. I waved my hand back and forth, of course without
effect; but when the moving shadow fell across his face I saw at once
that he was susceptible to the impression. His face became more
expectant and tense as he tried to analyze and identify the impression.
He knew that he had responded to something from without, that his
sensibility had been touched by a changing something in his environment;
but what it was he could not discover. I ceased waving my hand, so that
the shadow remained stationary. He slowly moved his head back and forth
under it and turned from side to side, now in the sunshine, now in the
shade, feeling the shadow, as it were, testing it by sensation.

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,