He left the house without speaking another word.
I went to the door and watched him as he made his way along the footpath through the copse. I saw that the mists had now passed away and that the sun was shining brightly. Strange as it may seem, I did not at that moment realize the inwardness of my conversation with Josiah Lethbridge; I only reflected upon the fact that although he was a magistrate I had said nothing to him concerning my discovery of that morning. He at least was a keen, capable man, he could act wisely and promptly; yet I had not uttered a word. But after all I had done right; the problem he was facing was different from mine, and he would be in no way in a fit condition to help me. Besides, I had made up my mind to carry out my own plans.
No one else came to see me that day, and during the remainder of the afternoon and evening I remained alone, thinking of what I ought to do. I still felt strong and capable. I suffered no pain, neither did any sense of weariness oppress me.
"That little dog, sir," said Simpson, coming into the room about sunset.
"Yes, Simpson? What of it?"
"It is a lot better, sir. The wound was not a bad one at all, and now he is getting quite frolicsome."
The dog had followed Simpson into the room and was sniffing at my legs in a friendly way.
"Poor old chap," I said, patting his head; "you are not very beautiful certainly, but you look as though you had faithful eyes."
He gave a pleased yelp and licked my hand; after this he lay down on the rug and composed himself to sleep.
"Evidently he has adopted us, Simpson," I said.