There's the mark on his temple.

He's been lying here unconscious ever since; but his pulse is all right, and we'll soon have him fit again." So saying, Dyck whipped out a horn containing spirit, and, while Sheila lifted the injured head, he bathed the old man's face with the spirit, then opened the mouth and let some liquor trickle down.
"He's the cleanest peasant I ever saw," remarked Sheila; "and he's coming to.

Look at him!" Yes, he was coming to.

There was a slight tremor of the eyelids, and presently they slowly opened.

They were eyes of remarkable poignancy and brightness--black, deep-set, direct, full of native intelligence.