The Sleeper Awakes: Large Print

One afternoon, at low water, Mr. Isbister, a young artist lodging at Boscastle, walked fromthat place to the picturesque cove of Pentargen, desiring to examine the caves there. Halfwaydown the precipitous path to the Pentargen beach he came suddenly upon a man sitting inan attitude of profound distress beneath a projecting mass of rock. The hands of this manhung limply over his knees, his eyes were red and staring before him, and his facewas wet with tears.He glanced round at Isbister's footfall. Both men were disconcerted, Isbister the more so, and, to override the awkwardness of his involuntary pause, he remarked, with an air ofmature conviction, that the weather was hot for the time of year."Very," answered the stranger shortly, hesitated a second, and added in a colourless tone,"I can't sleep."Isbister stopped abruptly. "No?" was all he said, but his bearing conveyed his helpfulimpulse."It may sound incredible," said the stranger, turning weary eyes to Isbister's faceand emphasizing his words with a languid hand, "but I have had no sleep-no sleep at allfor sixnights.""Had advice?"the run of people. I "Yes. Bad advice t's forhard the most to explain. art. Drugs. I dare My notnervous take ... sufficiently system.... They powerful are all drugs." very well for"That makes it difficult," said Isbister.He stood helplessly in the narrow path, perplexed what to do. Clearly the man wanted totalk. An idea natural enough under the circumstances, prompted him to keep theconversation going. "I've never suffered from sleeplessness myself," he said in a tone ofcommonplace gossip, "but in those cases I have known, people have usually foundsomething-""I dare make no experiments.