154 The Light That Failed briefly how he had come by it. When the flame was removed, Dick saw the doctor’s face, and the fear came upon him again. The doctor wrapped himself in a mist of words. Dick caught allusions to “scar,” “frontal bone,” “optic nerve,” “extreme caution,” and the “avoidance of mental anxiety.” “Verdict?” he said faintly. “My business is painting, and I daren’t waste time. What do you make of it?” Again the whirl of words, but this time they conveyed a meaning. “Can you give me anything to drink?” Many sentences were pronounced in that darkened room, and the prisoners often needed cheering. Dick found a glass of liqueur brandy in his hand. “As far as I can gather,” he said, coughing above the spirit, “you call it decay of the optic nerve, or something, and therefore hopeless. What is my time-limit, avoiding all strain and worry?” “Perhaps one year.” “My God! And if I don’t take care of myself?” “I really could not say. One cannot ascertain the exact amount of injury inflicted by the sword-cut. The scar 1s an old one, and — exposure to the strong light of the desert, did you say? — with excessive application to fine work? I really could not say?” “I beg your pardon, but it has come without any warning. If you will let me, I'll sit here for a minute, and then I'll go. You have been very good in telling me the truth. Without any warning; without any warning. Thanks.” Dick went into the street, and was rapturously received by Binkie. “We've got it very badly, little dog! Just as badly as we can get it. We'll go to the Park to think it out.” They headed for a certain tree that Dick knew well, and they sat down to thin, because his legs were trem