“Are you not?” the other asked with a hint of polite surprise. “I do not think there would be much difficulty about a new commission, and officers are wanted.”
“They’re not likely to want a man with one eye, and I expect it will come to that,” Dick said grimly.
His visitor was sympathetic, but left soon afterwards, and Dick thought he was not much wiser about Kenwardine’s escape than when he came. Two or three weeks later he was allowed to get up, although he was tightly strapped with bandages and made to wear a shade over his eyes. When he lay in the open air one morning, Jake joined him.
“We must get back to Santa Brigida as soon as we can,” he said. “They’re planning an extension of the irrigation scheme, and the old man and Ida are coming out. The doctor seems to think you might go by the next boat if we take care of you. But I’d better give you Kenwardine’s letters. We took them out of your pocket the night you got hurt, and I’ve been wondering why you haven’t asked for them.”
“Thanks,” Dick answered dully. “I don’t know that I’ll use them now. I’ll be glad to get back and dare say I can do my work with one eye.”
“You’ll soon have both,” Jake declared.
“It’s doubtful,” said Dick. “I don’t think the doctor’s very sanguine.”
On the whole, he was relieved when Jake left, because he found it an effort to talk, but the thoughts he afterwards indulged in were gloomy. His broken ribs did not trouble him much, but there was some risk of his losing his eye. He had helped to expose and banish Kenwardine, and could not ask Clare to marry him after that, even if he were not half blind and disfigured. Besides, it was doubtful if he would be able to resume his profession or do any useful work again. The sight of the uninjured eye might go. As a matter of fact, the strain he had borne for some time had told upon his health and the shock of the accident had made things worse. He had sunk into a dejected, lethargic mood, from which he had not the vigor to rouse himself.
A week later he was helped on board a small French boat and sailed for Santa Brigida. He did not improve with the sea air, as Jake had hoped, and for the most part avoided the few passengers and sat alone in the darkest corner he could find. Now and then he moodily read Kenwardine’s letters. He had at first expected much from them. They might have removed the stain upon his name and the greatest obstacle between himself and Clare; but he no longer cared much about the former and the letters were useless now. For all that, he put them carefully away in a leather case which he carried in an inside pocket.