“The greater part of the man’s life—­of his vital forces—­goes out with this Double,” Dr. Silence resumed, after a moment’s consideration, “and a considerable portion of the actual material of his physical body.  So the physical body that remains behind is depleted, not only of force, but of matter.  You would see it small, shrunken, dropped together, just like the body of a materialising medium at a seance.  Moreover, any mark or injury inflicted upon this Double will be found exactly reproduced by the phenomenon of repercussion upon the shrunken physical body lying in its trance—­”

“An injury inflicted upon the one you say would be reproduced also on the other?” repeated Maloney, his excitement growing again.

“Undoubtedly,” replied the other quietly; “for there exists all the time a continuous connection between the physical body and the Double—­a connection of matter, though of exceedingly attenuated, possibly of etheric, matter.  The wound travels, so to speak, from one to the other, and if this connection were broken the result would be death.”

“Death,” repeated Maloney to himself, “death!” He looked anxiously at our faces, his thoughts evidently beginning to clear.

“And this solidity?” he asked presently, after a general pause; “this tearing of tents and flesh; this howling, and the marks of paws?  You mean that the Double—?”

“Has sufficient material drawn from the depleted body to produce physical results?  Certainly!” the doctor took him up.  “Although to explain at this moment such problems as the passage of matter through matter would be as difficult as to explain how the thought of a mother can actually break the bones of the child unborn.”

Dr. Silence pointed out to sea, and Maloney, looking wildly about him, turned with a violent start.  I saw a canoe, with Sangree in the stern-seat, slowly coming into view round the farther point.  His hat was off, and his tanned face for the first time appeared to me—­to us all, I think—­as though it were the face of some one else.  He looked like a wild man.  Then he stood up in the canoe to make a cast with the rod, and he looked for all the world like an Indian.  I recalled the expression of his face as I had seen it once or twice, notably on that occasion of the evening prayer, and an involuntary shudder ran down my spine.

At that very instant he turned and saw us where we lay, and his face broke into a smile, so that his teeth showed white in the sun.  He looked in his element, and exceedingly attractive.  He called out something about his fish, and soon after passed out of sight into the lagoon.

For a time none of us said a word.

“And the cure?” ventured Maloney at length.

“Is not to quench this savage force,” replied Dr. Silence, “but to steer it better, and to provide other outlets.  This is the solution of all these problems of accumulated force, for this force is the raw material of usefulness, and should be increased and cherished, not by separating it from the body by death, but by raising it to higher channels.  The best and quickest cure of all,” he went on, speaking very gently and with a hand upon the clergyman’s arm, “is to lead it towards its object, provided that object is not unalterably hostile—­to let it find rest where—­”