He paused, looking at Yule in a strange way.
‘What happened then?’
‘You probably don’t remember a railway accident that took place near Crewe in that year—it was 1869? I and my wife and child were alone in a carriage that was splintered. One moment I was talking with them, in fairly good spirits, and my wife was laughing at something I had said; the next, there were two crushed, bleeding bodies at my feet. I had a broken arm, that was all. Well, they were killed on the instant; they didn’t suffer. That has been my one consolation.’
Yule kept the silence of sympathy.
‘I was in a lunatic asylum for more than a year after that,’ continued the man. ‘Unhappily, I didn’t lose my senses at the moment; it took two or three weeks to bring me to that pass. But I recovered, and there has been no return of the disease. Don’t suppose that I am still of unsound mind. There can be little doubt that poverty will bring me to that again in the end; but as yet I am perfectly sane. I have supported myself in various ways.
No, I don’t drink; I see the question in your face. But I am physically weak, and, to quote Mrs Gummidge, “things go contrary with me.” There’s no use lamenting; this breakfast has helped me on, and I feel in much better spirits.’
‘Your surgical knowledge is no use to you?’
The other shook his head and sighed.
‘Did you ever give any special attention to diseases of the eyes?’
‘Special, no. But of course I had some acquaintance with the subject.’