“You say there is one who will understand me—do you mean George Wylde?”
“ ”
“Shall I tell him?”
“ ”
“I fear even him.”
At this point a hand was suddenly laid upon my arm. I looked around expecting to see Walla, but instead saw the Doctor. He was holding a bowl of rice and looking at me questioningly. To my surprise I perceived that Walla had again disappeared.
Strange creature! I never understood her. Sometimes now I find myself wondering if it was all her love for Maurice; if her father’s terrible fate had not left its mark upon the poor girl’s brain.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” demanded the Doctor.
“I was watching Maurice,” I said, hurriedly explaining.
“What did I tell you? We are not out of the woods with Maurice yet by a good deal.”
“But how do you account for it? By the way, did you meet Walla? She was here a second ago, but seems to have vanished again.”
“No; I saw nothing of her. As for accounting for Maurice’s present condition I don’t profess to be able to do it. You who lay claim to having taken a planetary journey yourself ought to understand better than I; but he seems to be sitting perfectly quiet. Weren’t you mistaken?”
“No, no! He has stopped talking. He hears us. It is no use now.”
Maurice ate the rice with no show of hunger. I make this statement particularly, for I want it understood that whatever may be said of his spirit, his physical body had received no nourishment for a full month—to this I am prepared to swear.
When we finished eating, the Doctor, with many a sigh, produced the pipe and the last remnant of the tobacco.
“There you are, old man,” he said. “I know you must be dying for a smoke. I have tried to keep your pipe from drying up the best I could.”
So far Maurice had maintained a gloomy silence, but to my infinite relief it was now my friend’s dear face at which I was looking, not the other one; that, beautiful though it was, I had almost come to fear.
