g. He was in the
same submarine dungeon of the famous Castle of San Juan de Ulua.

His door was opened, and a man, not a soldier, came in with soup in a
tin basin. He uttered a low exclamation, when he saw that Ned was
conscious, but he made no explanations. Nor did Ned ask him anything.
But he ate the soup with a good appetite, and felt very much stronger.
His mind, too, began to wake up. He knew that he was going to get well,
but it occurred to him that it might be better for him to conceal his
returning strength. With a relaxed watch he would have more chance to
escape.

The soup had a soothing effect, and his mind shared with his body in the
improvement. It was obvious that they had not intended for him to die or
they would not have taken care of him in his illness. The shaven head
was proof. But he saw nothing that he could do. He must wait upon the
action of his jailers. Having come to this conclusion he lay upon his
pallet, and let vague thoughts float through his head as they would.

About three hours after they had brought him his soup he heard a
scratching at the keyhole of his door. He was not too languid to be
surprised. He did not think it likely that any of his jailers would come
back so soon, and heretofore the key had always turned in the lock
without noise.

Ned sat up. The scratching continued for a few moments, and the door
swung open. A tall, thin figure of a man entered, the door closed behind
him, and with some further scratching he locked it. Then the man turned
and stared at Ned. Ned stared with equal intentness at him.

The figure that he saw was thin and six feet four; the face that he saw
was thin and long. The face was also bleached to an indescribable dead
white, the effect of which was heightened by the thick and fiery red
hair that crowned a head, broad and shaped finely. His hair even in the
dark seemed to be vital, the most vital part of him. Ned fancied that
his eyes were blue, although in the dimness he could not tell. But he
knew that this was no Mexican. A member of his own race stood before
him.

"Well," said Ned.

"Well?" replied the man in a singularly soft and pleasant voice.

"Who are you and what do you want?"

"To the first I am Obed White; to the second I want to talk to you, and
I would append as a general observation that I am harmless. Evil to him
that would evil do."

"The quotation is wrong," said Ned, smiling faintly. "It is 'evil to him
who evil thinks.'"