But that was a question for which she found no answer.
CHAPTER XXVI.
CURED.
"You are quite well," said the doctor to John Smith, otherwise called Francis Trent, at the great hospital one day. "You can go out to-morrow. There is nothing more that we can do for you."
Smith raised his dull eyes to their faces.
"Am I—cured?" he asked.
One of the doctors shrugged his shoulders a little. Another answered kindly and pityingly,
"You will find that you are not as strong as you used to be. Not the same man in many respects. But you will be able to get your own living, and we see no reason for detaining you here. What was your trade?"
The patient looked down at his white, thin hands. "I don't know," he said.