Thanks to his subtle questioning of the Doctor, he now knew that his room
was close to the ground, so that he would easily drop from the window and
steal away with out immediate danger of any restraining accident. If he
could once get away he would be all right. There was a large sum to his
credit in each of two London banks. He would manage somehow to find his
way to London; even if he had to walk and beg his way. He felt that now in the silence of the night the time had come. Quietly
he rose and felt his way to the door, now and again stumbling and
knocking against unknown obstacles in the manner of the recently blind. After each such noise he paused and listened. He felt as if the very
walls had ears. When he reached the door he turned the key softly. Then
he breathed more freely. He felt that he was at last alone and free to
move without suspicion. Then began a great and arduous search; one that was infinitely difficult
and exasperating; and full of pathos to the sympathetic man who watched
him in silence. Mr. Hilton could not understand his movements as he felt
his way about the room, opening drawers and armoires, now and again
stooping down and feeling along the floor. He did not betray his
presence, however, but moved noiselessly away as the other approached. It
was a hideously real game of blindman's-buff, with perhaps a life as the
forfeit. Harold went all over the room, and at last sat down on the edge of his
bed with a hollow suppressed groan that was full of pain. He had found
his clothes, but realised that they were now but rags. He put on the
clothes, and then for a long time sat quiet, rocking gently to and fro as
one in pain, a figure of infinite woe. At last he roused himself. His
mind was made up; the time for action had come. He groped his way
towards the window looking south. The Doctor, who had taken off his
shoes, followed him with catlike stealthiness. He easily threw open the window, for it was already partly open for
ventilation. When Mr. Hilton saw him sit on the rail of the balcony and begin to raise
his feet, getting ready to drop over, he rushed forward and seized him. Harold instinctively grappled with him; the habit of his Alaskan life
amidst continual danger made in such a case action swift as thought. Mr.
Hilton, with the single desire to prevent him from killing himself, threw
himself backward and pulled Harold with him to the stone floor. Harold, as he held him in a grip of iron, thundered out, forgetful in the
excitement of the moment the hushed voice to which he had limited
himself:

'What do you want? who are you?' 'H-s-s-sh! I am Mr. Hilton.' Harold relaxed the rigour of his grasp but
still held him firmly:

'How did you come here? I locked my door!' 'I have been in the room a long time. I suspected something, and came to
watch; to prevent your rash act.' 'Rash act! How?' 'Why, man, if you didn't kill, you would at least cripple yourself.' 'How can I cripple myself when the flower-bed is only a few feet below?' 'There are other dangers for a man who--a man in your sad state. And,
besides, have I no duty to prevent a suicide!' Here a brilliant idea
struck Harold. This man had evidently got some wrong impression; but it
would serve to shield his real purpose. He would therefore encourage it. For the moment, of course, his purpose to escape unnoticed was foiled;
but he would wait, and in due time seize another opportunity. In a
harder and more determined tone than he had yet used he said:

'I don't see what right you have to interfere. I shall kill myself if I
like.' 'Not whilst you are in my care!' This was spoken with a resolution equal
to his own. Then Mr. Hilton went on, more softly and with infinite
compassion: 'Moreover, I want to have a talk with you which may alter
your views.' Harold interrupted, still playing the game of hiding his
real purpose:

'I shall do as I wish; as I intend.' 'You are injuring yourself even now by standing in the draught of that
open window. Your eyes will feel it before long . . . Are you mad . . . ?' Harold felt a prick like a pin in his neck; and turned to seize his
companion. He could not find him, and for a few moments stumbled through
the dark, raging . . . It seemed a long time before he remembered anything. He had a sense of
time lapsed; of dreamland thoughts and visions. Then gradually
recollection came back. He tried to move; but found it impossible. His
arms and legs were extended wide and were tied; he could feel the cord
hurting his wrists and ankles as he moved. To him it was awful to be
thus blind and helpless; and anger began to surge up. He heard the voice
of Mr. Hilton close by him speaking in a calm, grave, sympathetic tone:

'My poor fellow, I hated to take such a step; but it was really necessary
for your own safety. You are a man, and a brave one. Won't you listen
to me for a few minutes? When you have heard what I have to say I shall
release you. In the meantime I apologise for the outrage, as I dare say
you consider it!' Harold was reasonable; and he was now blind and
helpless. Moreover, there was something in the Doctor's voice that
carried a sense of power with it. 'Go on! I shall listen!' He compelled himself to quietude. The Doctor
saw, and realised that he was master of himself. There were some snips
of scissors, and he was free. 'See! all I want is calm for a short time, and you have it. May I go
on?' 'Go on!' said Harold, not without respect. The Doctor after a pause
spoke:

'My poor fellow, I want you to understand that I wish to help you, to do
all in my power to restore to you that which you seem to have lost! I
can sympathise with your desire to quit life altogether now that the best
part of it, sight, seems gone. I do not pretend to judge the actions of
my fellows; and if you determine to carry out your purpose I shall not be
able to prevent you for ever. I shall not try to. But you certainly
shall not do so till you know what I know! I had wished to wait till I
could be a little more certain before I took you into confidence with
regard to my guessing as to the future. But your desire to destroy
yourself forces my hand. Now let me tell you that there is a possibility
of the removal of the cause of your purpose.' 'What do you mean?' gasped Harold. He was afraid to think outright and
to the full what the other's words seemed to imply. 'I mean,' said the other solemnly, 'that there is a possibility, more
than a possibility, that you may recover your sight!' As he spoke there
was a little break in his voice. He too was somewhat unnerved at the
situation. Harold lay still. The whole universe seemed to sway, and then whirl
round him in chaotic mass. Through it at length he seemed to hear the
calm voice:

'At first I could not be sure of my surmise, for when I used the
ophthalmoscope your suffering was too recent to disclose the cause I
looked for. Now I am fairly sure of it.