Holcomb. And Dr. Hansen had pondered it often
since.
What was the force that was pulsing through the Blind Spot? It had
reached out on the earth, and had plucked up youth as well as
wisdom. THIS was the first time it had ever given up that which it
had taken!
It was Watson, sure enough; but it was not the man he had known
one year before. Except for the basic features Hansen would not
have recognized him; the shadow was gone, the pallor, the touch of
death. He was hale and radiant; his skin had the pink glow of
alert fitness; except for being dazed, he appeared perfectly
natural. In the tense moment of his arrival the little group
waited in silence. What had he to tell them?
But he did not see them at first. He groped about blindly, moving
slowly and holding his hands before him. His face was calm and
settled; its lines told decision. There was not a question in any
mind present but that the man had come for a purpose.
Why could he not see? Perhaps the light was too dim. Some one
thought to turn on the extra lights.
It brought the first word from Watson. He threw up both arms
before his face; like one shutting out the lightning.
"Don't!" he begged. "Don't! Shut off the lights; you will blind
me! Please; please! Darken the room!"
Sir Henry sprang to the switch. Instantly the place went to
shadow; there was just enough light from the moon to distinguish
the several forms grouped in the middle of the room.
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