Silence and I sat up for the remainder of the
night--this wonderful and haunted night that had shown us such strange
glimpses of a new heaven and a new hell--for the Canadian tossed upon
his balsam boughs with high fever in his blood, and upon each cheek a
dark and curious contusion showed, throbbing with severe pain although
the skin was not broken and there was no outward and visible sign of
blood. "Maloney shot straight, you see," whispered Dr. Silence to me after the
clergyman had gone to his tent, and had put Joan to sleep beside her
mother, who, by the way, had never once awakened. "The bullet must have
passed clean through the face, for both cheeks are stained. He'll wear
these marks all his life--smaller, but always there. They're the most
curious scars in the world, these scars transferred by repercussion from
an injured Double. They'll remain visible until just before his death,
and then with the withdrawal of the subtle body they will disappear
finally." His words mingled in my dazed mind with the sighs of the troubled
sleeper and the crying of the wind about the tent. Nothing seemed to
paralyse my powers of realisation so much as these twin stains of
mysterious significance upon the face before me. It was odd, too, how speedily and easily the Camp resigned itself again
to sleep and quietness, as though a stage curtain had suddenly dropped
down upon the action and concealed it; and nothing contributed so
vividly to the feeling that I had been a spectator of some kind of
visionary drama as the dramatic nature of the change in the girl's
attitude. Yet, as a matter of fact, the change had not been so sudden and
revolutionary as appeared. Underneath, in those remoter regions of
consciousness where the emotions, unknown to their owners, do secretly
mature, and owe thence their abrupt revelation to some abrupt
psychological climax, there can be no doubt that Joan's love for the
Canadian had been growing steadily and irresistibly all the time. It had
now rushed to the surface so that she recognised it; that was all. And it has always seemed to me that the presence of John Silence, so
potent, so quietly efficacious, produced an effect, if one may say so,
of a psychic forcing-house, and hastened incalculably the bringing
together of these two "wild" lovers. In that sudden awakening had
occurred the very psychological climax required to reveal the passionate
emotion accumulated below. The deeper knowledge had leaped across and
transferred itself to her ordinary consciousness, and in that shock the
collision of the personalities had shaken them to the depths and shown
her the truth beyond all possibility of doubt. "He's sleeping quietly now," the doctor said, interrupting my
reflections. "If you will watch alone for a bit I'll go to Maloney's
tent and help him to arrange his thoughts." He smiled in anticipation of
that "arrangement." "He'll never quite understand how a wound on the
Double can transfer itself to the physical body, but at least I can
persuade him that the less he talks and 'explains' to-morrow, the sooner
the forces will run their natural course now to peace and quietness." He went away softly, and with the removal of his presence Sangree,
sleeping heavily, turned over and groaned with the pain of his broken
head. And it was in the still hour just before the dawn, when all the islands
were hushed, the wind and sea still dreaming, and the stars visible
through clearing mists, that a figure crept silently over the ridge and
reached the door of the tent where I dozed beside the sufferer, before I
was aware of its presence. The flap was cautiously lifted a few inches
and in looked--Joan. That same instant Sangree woke and sat up on his bed of branches. He
recognised her before I could say a word, and uttered a low cry. It was
pain and joy mingled, and this time all human. And the girl too was no
longer walking in her sleep, but fully aware of what she was doing. I
was only just able to prevent him springing from his blankets. "Joan, Joan!" he cried, and in a flash she answered him, "I'm here--I'm
with you always now," and had pushed past me into the tent and flung
herself upon his breast. "I knew you would come to me in the end," I heard him whisper. "It was all too big for me to understand at first," she murmured, "and
for a long time I was frightened--"

"But not now!" he cried louder; "you don't feel afraid now of--of
anything that's in me--"

"I fear nothing," she cried, "nothing, nothing!" I led her outside again. She looked steadily into my face with eyes
shining and her whole being transformed. In some intuitive way,
surviving probably from the somnambulism, she knew or guessed as much as
I knew. "You must talk to-morrow with John Silence," I said gently, leading her
towards her own tent. "He understands everything." I left her at the door, and as I went back softly to take up my place of
sentry again with the Canadian, I saw the first streaks of dawn lighting
up the far rim of the sea behind the distant islands. And, as though to emphasise the eternal closeness of comedy to tragedy,
two small details rose out of the scene and impressed me so vividly that
I remember them to this very day. For in the tent where I had just left
Joan, all aquiver with her new happiness, there rose plainly to my ears
the grotesque sounds of the Bo'sun's Mate heavily snoring, oblivious of
all things in heaven or hell; and from Maloney's tent, so still was the
night, where I looked across and saw the lantern's glow, there came to
me, through the trees, the monotonous rising and falling of a human
voice that was beyond question the sound of a man praying to his God. CASE III: A VICTIM OF HIGHER SPACE


"There's a hextraordinary gentleman to see you, sir," said the new man. "Why 'extraordinary'?" asked Dr. Silence, drawing the tips of his thin
fingers through his brown beard. His eyes twinkled pleasantly. "Why
'extraordinary,' Barker?" he repeated encouragingly, noticing the
perplexed expression in the man's eyes. "He's so--so thin, sir. I could hardly see 'im at all--at first. He was
inside the house before I could ask the name," he added, remembering
strict orders. "And who brought him here?" "He come alone, sir, in a closed cab. He pushed by me before I could say
a word--making no noise not what I could hear. He seemed to move so soft
like--"

The man stopped short with obvious embarrassment, as though he had
already said enough to jeopardise his new situation, but trying hard to
show that he remembered the instructions and warnings he had received
with regard to the admission of strangers not properly accredited. "And where is the gentleman now?" asked Dr. Silence, turning away to
conceal his amusement. "I really couldn't exactly say, sir. I left him standing in the 'all--"

The doctor looked up sharply. "But why in the hall, Barker? Why not in
the waiting-room?" He fixed his piercing though kindly eyes on the man's
face. "Did he frighten you?" he asked quickly.