The surgeon's eyes fastened on the place, and as Charley worked and his brother talked, he studied the man, the scar, the contour of the head.

At last he came up to Charley and softly placed his fingers on the scar, feeling the skull.

Charley turned quickly.
There was something in the long, piercing look of the surgeon which seemed to come through limitless space to the sleeping and imprisoned memory of Charley's sick mind.

A confused, anxious, half-fearful look crept into the wide blue eyes.

It was like a troubled ghost, flitting along the boundaries of sight and sense, and leaving a chill and a horrified wonder behind.