It was in vain that Mr. Field disclaimed any knowledge of the matter when the constable went up to interview him next morning. The story of the grey cat was scoffed at by the village in general as being an entirely inadequate explanation of the accident, and public feeling waxed more and more indignant against him.
The condition of the patient had improved during the night, and a gradual return to consciousness was apparent as the hours went by. Mrs. Power had constituted herself his nurse for the present, there being no one else available who was competent to undertake such a task.
Meanwhile Mr. Field's sensations were not enviable as he waited in feverish anxiety for tidings from the sick man's room.
"If he dies, I'm done for," he said, "for there are no witnesses, and I can't deny that appearances are dead against me, however I may seek to disclaim the deed. Even if he lives, how do I know that he will speak the truth about it? He's got an opportunity now of ruining me altogether, if he chooses only to say the word."
It was not till late afternoon that Mrs. Power, on glancing up from her chair, noticed that the invalid had opened his eyes, and was gazing at her with a puzzled look. She went to him and administered a few spoonfuls of the beef-tea which she had ready on the hob.
"Just lie still and try to go to sleep," she said. "You'll get on all right now."
For an hour or more he lay silent, and the watcher thought that he dozed, but she was suddenly startled by a voice from the bed.
"I've been down to the very gates of death, haven't I?" was the unexpected question.
"Yes," she replied, "but they are not going to open to you this time, I think. You have turned the corner now, and we expect to have you well again in no time."
"I shouldn't have been ready to go through if they had opened," said Ben, ignoring her remark. "They would have been black gates to me, not the golden ones my poor old father saw."