When I came to, I found that my foot had been bandaged,
there was a torch in the wall, and by my side something in a jug,
of which I drank, according to directions in a surgeon's hand on
a paper beside it.
I was easier in all my body, yet miserably sick still, and I
remained so, now shivering and now burning, a racking pain in my
chest. My couch was filled with fresh straw, but in no other wise
was my condition altered from the first time I had entered this
place. My new jailer was a man of no feeling that I could see,
yet of no violence or cruelty; one whose life was like a wheel,
doing the eternal round. He did no more nor less than his orders,
and I made no complaint nor asked any favour. No one came to me,
no message found its way.
Full three months went by in this fashion, and then, one day,
who should step into my dungeon, torch in hand, but Gabord! He
raised the light above his head, and looked down at me most
quizzically.
"Upon my soul--Gabord!" said I. "I did not kill you, then?"
"Upon your soul and upon your body, you killed not Gabord."
"And what now, quarrelsome Gabord?" I questioned cheerfully.
He shook some keys. "Back again to dickey-bird's cage.
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