ow things stood, put in a few hours' work with him on the
house, and got back to Rozel.

"Has he spoken?" was the doctor's first question next day.

"Not a word."

"Ah!" with a weighty nod, and he lifted Torode's left hand, and when he let
it go it fell limply.

And again, each day, his first question was, "Has he spoken?" And my reply
was always the same. For, whether through lack of power or strength of will
I could not tell, but certain it was that no word of any kind had so far
passed between us.

One time, coming upon him unawares, I saw his lips moving as though he were
attempting speech to himself, but as soon as he saw me he set himself once
more to his grim silence, and the look in his eyes reminded me somehow of
Krok.

On the seventh day, when the doctor asked his usual question, and I as
usual replied, he said gravely, "'Cre nom-de-Dieu, I doubt if he will ever
speak again. You see--" and he went off into a very full and deep
explanation about certain parts of the brain, of which I understood nothing
except that they were on the left side and controlled the powers of speech,
and he feared the bullet and the inflammation it had caused had damaged
them beyond repair. And when I turned to look at Torode the dumb misery in
his eyes assured me in my own mind that it was so, for I had seen just that
look in Krok's eyes many a time.

Another whole week I waited, visiting Krok three times in all, and the
last time finding him living quite contentedly in the finished house. And
then, Torode having spoken no word, and the doctor saying he could do no
more for him, I had him carried down to the boat and took him across to the
Ecrehous.

He had been gaining strength daily, and, except for a certain
disinclination to exertion of any kind, and his lack of speech, looked
almost himself again. Later on, when he walked and worked, I noticed a
weakness in his left arm, and his left leg dragged a little.

At Krok's suggestion I had bargained for a small boat, and I took him also
a further supply of provisions, and flour, and fishing-lines. And before I
left them I thought it right to explain to Torode just what had happened.

He listened in a cold black fury, but fell soon into a slough of despond.
His life was over, but he was not dead. For him, as for the rest of us,
death would, I think, have been more merciful--and yet, I would not have
had him die at my hands.

And so I left the two dumb men on the Ecrehous an