Hal made an effort. His lips formed the words soundlessly: “I understand.”
“He’ll do now,” said Filhiol. “I’m pretty far gone. I’ve got to get a little rest or you’ll have two sick men on your hands. If you need anything, call me, though. And don’t let him talk! That punctured lung of his has got to rest!”
He got up heavily, patted Hal’s hand that lay outside the spread, and hobbled toward the door.
The captain followed him, laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Doctor,” said he in a low tone, “if you knew what you’ve done for me—if you could only understand—”
“None of that, sir!” interrupted the old man sternly. “A professional duty, sir, nothing more!”
“A million times more than that! You’ve opened up a new heaven and a new earth. You’ve given Hal back to me! I can see the change. It’s real! The old book’s closed. The new one’s opened. You’ve saved a thing infinitely more than life to me. You’ve saved my boy!”
Filhiol nodded.
“And you, too,” he murmured. “Yes, facts are facts. Still, it was all in the line of duty. We’re neither of us too old to stand up to duty, captain. I hope we’ll never be. Hal’s cured. There can’t be any manner of doubt about that. The curse of unbridled strength is lifted from him. He’s another man now. The powers of darkness have defeated themselves. And the new dawn is breaking.”
He paused a moment, looking intently into the old captain’s face, then turned again toward the door.