cies and plots against the tyrant as a
stream is lost in an arid belt of sandy country before it emerges,
diminished and troubled, perhaps, on the other side. The doctor made
no secret of it that he had lived for years in the wildest parts of
the Republic, wandering with almost unknown Indian tribes in the great
forests of the far interior where the great rivers have their sources.
But it was mere aimless wandering; he had written nothing, collected
nothing, brought nothing for science out of the twilight of the forests,
which seemed to cling to his battered personality limping about Sulaco,
where it had drifted in casually, only to get stranded on the shores of
the sea.

It was also known that he had lived in a state of destitution till the
arrival of the Goulds from Europe. Don Carlos and Dona Emilia had taken
up the mad English doctor, when it became apparent that for all his
savage independence he could be tamed by kindness. Perhaps it was
only hunger that had tamed him. In years gone by he had certainly been
acquainted with Charles Gould's father in Sta. Marta; and now, no matter
what were the dark passages of his history, as the medical officer of
the San Tome mine he became a recognized personality. He was recognized,
but not unreservedly accepted. So much defiant eccentricity and such
an outspoken scorn for mankind seemed to point to mere recklessness of
judgment, the bravado of guilt. Besides, since he had become again of
some account, vague whispers had been heard that years ago, when fallen
into disgrace and thrown into prison by Guzman Bento at the time of the
so-called Great Conspiracy, he had betrayed some of his best friends
amongst the conspirators. Nobody pretended to believe that whisper; the
whole story of the Great Conspiracy was hopelessly involved and obscure;
it is admitted in Costaguana that there never had been a conspiracy
except in the diseased imagination of the Tyrant; and, therefore,
nothing and no one to betray; though the most distinguished
Costaguaneros had been imprisoned and executed upon that accusation. The
procedure had dragged on for years, decimating the better class like
a pestilence. The mere expression of sorrow for the fate of executed
kinsmen had been punished with death. Don Jose Avellanos was perhaps the
only one living who knew the whole story of those unspeakable cruelties.
He had suffered from them himself, and he, with a shrug of the shoulders
and a nervous, jerky gestu