"By signs at first--gradually making them more simple and
suggestive. The elimination of signs kept pace with the
development of his intuitions. It was slow work and hard
work, but I gave all my time to it. After he became familiar
with a sign, I began to make it less pantomimic, until
finally a lift of the eyebrow, a movement of the lips, or an
inclination of the head served to express my meaning. In
time he could detect the passing shades of expression in my
eyes and understand them. Look at me," said he, laying his
hand on my head and watching my eyes as the firelight shone
upon them, for it was now evening.

"Don't you know, my boy, that your eyes reflect what is
passing in your mind? Then there are countless nerves and
muscles in your face which proclaim thought. They aid my
intuitions to discover what you do not speak. You
wonder--ah! you are afraid!--afraid of me."

I started in my chair, for while he was looking into my eyes
a strange gleam came into his own. He turned about suddenly
and looked into the bright fire that burned on the grate
before us.

"Never fear," he continued, nervously twirling a lock of his
white hair. "Never fear, sir--I am not mad. Not yet. I have
been afraid of it, but my reason will outlast my life. Do
you ever pray?"

"Every day," I answered.