you Kenwardine's letters. We
took them out of your pocket the night you got hurt, and I've been
wondering why you haven't asked for them."

"Thanks," Dick answered dully. "I don't know that I'll use them now. I'll
be glad to get back and dare say I can do my work with one eye."

"You'll soon have both," Jake declared.

"It's doubtful," said Dick. "I don't think the doctor's very sanguine."

On the whole, he was relieved when Jake left, because he found it an
effort to talk, but the thoughts he afterwards indulged in were gloomy.
His broken ribs did not trouble him much, but there was some risk of his
losing his eye. He had helped to expose and banish Kenwardine, and could
not ask Clare to marry him after that, even if he were not half blind and
disfigured. Besides, it was doubtful if he would be able to resume his
profession or do any useful work again. The sight of the uninjured eye
might go. As a matter of fact, the strain he had borne for some time had
told upon his health and the shock of the accident had made things worse.
He had sunk into a dejected, lethargic mood, from which he had not the
vigor to rouse himself.

A week later he was helped on board a small French boat and sailed for
Santa Brigida. He did not improve with the sea air, as Jake had hoped,
and for the most part avoided the few passengers and sat alone in the
darkest corner he could find. Now and then he moodily read Kenwardine's
letters. He had at first expected much from them. They might have removed
the stain upon his name and the greatest obstacle between himself and
Clare; but he no longer cared much about the former and the letters were
useless now. For all that, he put them carefully away in a leather case
which he carried in an inside pocket.

CHAPTER XXXII

IDA INTERFERES

On his return to Santa Brigida, Dick went to see a Spanish oculist, who
took a more hopeful view than the Kingston doctor, although he admitted
that there was some danger of the injury proving permanent. Dick felt
slightly comforted when he learned that the oculist was a clever man who
had been well known in Barcelona until he was forced to leave the city
after taking part in some revolutionary plot. He was, however, unable to
resume his work, and while he brooded over his misfortunes a touch of the
malaria he had already suffered from hindered his recovery. One of the
effects of malaria is a feeling of black depression. He was feebly
struggling against t