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 the weakness and despondence when Fuller arrived and soon afterwards came to see him. Dick, who was sitting in the darkest corner of the veranda, had got rid of his bandage; but an ugly, livid mark crossed his forehead to the shade above his eyes and his face looked worn. Fuller talked about the dam for a time, and then stopped and looked hard at his silent companion. "I imagined all this would interest you, but you don't say much." "No," said Dick. "You see, it's galling to listen to plans you can't take part in. In fact, I feel I ought to resign." "Why?" "It looks as if it may be a long time before I can get to work and I may never be of much use again."