“Better to leave the past alone,” said he. “Granting that I had formed an idea, I could not put it into proper words. I have tried to do so. In the expectation of death I wrote down certain matters. But these I shall now destroy. I am wiser, less morbid. I can perceive that there are fields of thought of which it is advisable to keep closed the gates. Do as I do, Carl — forget. Take the credit for my recovery, and be content with that.”

I felt that he was right, and resumed my position near the window, humming a tune.

“In a week you may put your foot to the ground; you will then no longer have to be carried about like a parcel.” I spoke in a casual tone.

“Good!” he ejaculated.