“If things turn out as I hope, he will look no worse than a man who is badly marked with smallpox. There will be two or three ugly seams--here, and here”--he indicated the precise spots lightly with a finger-tip--“but the hair will help to cover them when it grows again, and if the mouth is much disfigured--why, you must lay your commands upon the patient to grow a beard.” Mabel was crying. “Oh, it is too dreadful, too dreadful!” she sobbed. “Then you had better leave the sick-room to me before he recovers consciousness. There’s no need to make things worse for him by raising false hopes. Either stick to him, disfigurements and all, or don’t let him know that he ever had the chance of marrying you.” “It’s not for myself; it’s for him!” flashed forth Mabel. “Stick to him? of course I shall. He himself is not changed. But I can’t be too thankful that I have seen him like this. At least I know the worst.” Again the doctor was puzzled. Was she forcing herself to keep faith, for shame or pity’s sake, or was she really in love still? He did not attempt to argue the matter with her, and nothing more was said on the subject for a day or two. Then the doctor stopped Mabel one morning at the door of the sick-room. “One moment, Miss North. Has the patient ever exhibited any signs of consciousness in your presence--tried to speak, or anything of the sort?” “Never,” said Mabel, in surprise. “I should have told you if he had.” “I didn’t know whether you might be luxuriating in the sentimental satisfaction of feeling that you were the only person he recognised. You needn’t be angry; from your point of view it would be very natural. Well, I can’t make it out, then.” “But has he spoken again--are there any signs----?” “Not a word. But I can’t help thinking that there may be a kind of semi-consciousness about him--ability to distinguish light from darkness, or a loud noise from silence, perhaps--and I am almost certain that he knows when you are there. There are minute variations of temperature and pulse which correspond day after day, marking the difference between your presence and absence. It’s a queer thing.” “And you think he will soon be quite conscious? Oh, doctor!” and this hope it was that kept Mabel so closely within the walls of the Sarai as to satisfy even Dick. But no further change in the patient’s condition seemed to reward her eager watchfulness. Dr Tighe said nothing more, and Mabel was afraid to ask questions. Any good news he would surely tell her, and she did not want to hear any that was bad. After another three days, however, he stopped her again outside the sick-room.