And now once more I witnessed an exhibition of the amazing surgery of these people of the valley. I can be perfectly sure of every word I write about it, for I saw the whole thing from no farther away, this time, than the side of the couch on which my companion had been laid. The broken bone had been set before he left the royal courtyard, and that ingenious padded splint was not removed now. The physicians bathed the leg above and such surfaces of Poyning's ankle as were exposed, in warm water which I shrewdly suspected to be merely a more concentrated essence of the healing water we used in our baths. Then two of the curious wooden boxes were produced and laid one on either side of the damaged foot. The physician fixed into each a silver appliance shaped for all the world like a boat-rowlock--I imagine a specially fashioned "lead" was kept for various parts of the body--slid the horns of the rowlock over Poyning's leg just below the calf, and made some adjustment of the silent "battery." This was left in position for fully half an hour, then removed. The physician gave Poyning a draught from a small vial, and began to speak to him. I heard the same words spoken over and over again, from which I knew hypnotism formed part of the treatment and that a suggestion was being made to the patient. 'You will now sleep,' the level, monotonous voice said. 'On awaking you will be already well towards recovery. The bone will be united and the pain and swelling vanished. In three days from now you will set your foot to the ground and you will find it strong as ever. These things cannot possibly happen otherwise, for thus it has been said and the speaking is true. You will now sleep. On awaking--' This went on for two or three minutes, and I veritably declare I was almost asleep myself. I pulled myself up with an effort, and noticed that the physician had passed from assurances to questions; he was, as it were, driving the suggestion home. 'What will you do now?' he demanded. 'I am going to sleep,' came the drowsy voice of Poyning. 'And on awaking?' 'I shall be already well towards recovery.' 'And after three days?' 'I shall set my foot to the ground. It will be strong as ever. In three days....' Poyning's words ran off into an incoherent mumble. Then silence. The physician turned to me. 'He will sleep for twenty-four hours,' he said. 'Try not to wake him before, and when he wakes, tell him nothing of what I have said to him now, for he will not remember. But in three days his other soul will remember for him, and he will walk again.'