and again in every phase of horrified amazement, as
though he could not realise the truth: 'Blind! Blind!' The Doctor laid
his hand on his breast and said very gently:

'My poor fellow, it is a dreadful thing to face, to think of. But as yet
I have not been able to come to any conclusion; unable even to examine
you. I do not wish to encourage hopes that may be false, but there are
cases when injury is not vital and perhaps only temporary. In such case
your best chance, indeed your only chance, is to keep quiet. You must
not even think if possible of anything that may excite you. I am now
about to examine you with the ophthalmoscope. You are a man; none of us
who saw your splendid feat last night can doubt your pluck. Now I want
you to use some of it to help us both. You, for your recovery, if such
is possible; me, to help me in my work. I have asked some of your late
companions who tell me that on shipboard you were not only well and of
good sight, but that you were remarkable even amongst strong men. Whatever it is you suffer from must have come on quickly. Tell me all
you can remember of it.' The Doctor listened attentively whilst Harold told all he could remember
of his sufferings. When he spoke of the return of old rheumatic pains
his hearer said involuntarily: 'Good!' Harold paused; but went on at
once. The Doctor recognised that he had rightly appraised his remark,
and by it judged that he was a well-educated man. Something in the
method of speaking struck him, and he said, as nonchalantly as he could:

'By the way, which was your University?' 'Cambridge. Trinity.' He spoke without thinking, and the instant he had
done so stopped. The sense of his blindness rushed back on him. He
could not see; and his ears were not yet trained to take the place of his
eyes. He must guard himself. Thenceforward he was so cautious in his
replies that Mr. Hilton felt convinced there was some purpose in his
reticence. He therefore stopped asking questions, and began to examine
him. He was unable to come to much result; his opinion was shown in his
report to Lady de Lannoy:

'I am unable to say anything definite as yet. The case is a most
interesting one; as a case and quite apart from the splendid fellow who
is the subject of it. I have hopes that within a few days I may be able
to know more. I need not trouble you with surgical terms; but later on
if the diagnosis supports the supposition at present in my mind I shall
be able to speak more fully. In the meantime I shall, with your
permission, wait here so that I may watch him myself.' 'Oh you are good. Thank you! Thank you!' said Stephen. She had so
taken the man under her own care that she was grateful for any kindness
shown to him. 'Not at all,' said Mr. Hilton. 'Any man who behaved as that fellow did
has a claim on any of us who may help him. No time of mine could be
better spent.' When he went back to the patient's room he entered softly, for he thought
he might be asleep. The room was, according to his instructions, quite
dark, and as it was unfamiliar to him he felt his way cautiously. Harold,
however, heard the small noise he made and said quietly:

'Who is there?' 'It is I; Hilton.' 'Are you alone?' 'Yes.' 'Look round the room and see. Then lock the door and come and talk to me
if you will. You will pity a poor blind fellow, I know. The darkness
has come down upon me so quickly that I am not accustomed to it!' There
was a break in his voice which moved the other. He lit a candle, feeling
that the doing so would impress his patient, and went round the room; not
with catlike movement this time--he wanted the other to hear him. When
he had turned the key in the lock, as sharply as he could, he came to the
bedside and sat down. Harold spoke again after a short pause:

'Is that candle still lit?' 'Yes! Would you like it put out?' 'If you don't mind! Again I say pity me and pardon me. But I want to
ask you something privately, between our two selves; and I will feel more
of equality than if you were looking at me, whilst I cannot see you.' Mr
Hilton blew out the candle. 'There! We are equal now.' 'Thank you!' A long pause; then he went on:

'When a man becomes suddenly blind is there usually, or even
occasionally, any sort of odd sight? . . . Does he see anything like a
dream, a vision?' 'Not that I know of. I have never heard of such a case. As a rule
people struck blind by lightning, which is the most common cause,
sometimes remember with extraordinary accuracy the last thing they have
seen. Just as though it were photographed on the retina!' 'Thank you! Is such usually the recurrence of any old dream or anything
they have much thought of?' 'Not that I know of. It would be unusual!' Harold waited a long time
before he spoke again. When he did so it was in a different voice; a
constrained voice. The Doctor, accustomed to take enlightenment from
trivial details, noted it:

'Now tell me, Mr. Hilton, something about what has happened. Where am
I?' 'In Lannoy Castle.' 'Where is it?' 'In Angleshire!' 'Who does it belong to?' 'Lady de Lannoy. The Countess de Lannoy; they tell me she is a Countess
in her own right.' 'It is very good of her to have me here. Is she an old lady?' 'No! A young one. Young and very beautiful.' After a pause before his
query:

'What's she like? Describe her to me!' 'She is young, a little over twenty. Tall and of a very fine figure. She
has eyes like black diamonds, and hair like a flame!' For a long time
Harold remained still. Then he said:

'Tell me all you know or have learned of this whole affair. How was I
rescued, and by whom?' So the Doctor proceeded to give him every detail
he knew of. When he was quite through, the other again lay still for a
long time. The silence was broken by a gentle tap at the door. The
Doctor lit a candle. He turned the key softly, so that no one would
notice that the door was locked. Something was said in a low whisper. Then the door was gently closed, and the Doctor returning said:

'Lady Lannoy wants, if it will not disturb you, to ask how you are. Ordinarily I should not let anyone see you. But she is not only your
hostess, but, as I have just told you, it was her ride to the headland,
where she burned the house to give you light, which was the beginning of
your rescue. Still if you think it better not . . . !' 'I hardly like anybody to see me like this!' said Harold, feebly seeking
an excuse. 'My dear man,' said the other, 'you may be easy in your mind, she won't
see much of you. You are all bandages and beard. She'll have to wait a
while before she sees you.' 'Didn't she see me last night?' 'Not she! Whilst we were trying to restore you she was rushing back to
the Castle to see that all was ready for you, and for the others from the
wreck.' This vaguely soothed Harold. If his surmise was correct, and if she had not seen him then, it was well
that he was bandaged now. He felt that it would not do to refuse to let
her see him; it might look suspicious.