“I have not seen him move since eight o’clock; besides, if he were awake, he would show no consciousness. He is dying from sheer hopelessness, and a cannon fired at his side would not rouse him.”
The “humph” which this assurance called forth from the stranger had a peculiar sound in it, but the attention which had been directed to No. Thirteen now passed to his neighbor, and the former, feeling himself for the instant unobserved, partially opened his eyes to see how that neighbor was affected by it. A few whispered words had accomplished what a cannon had been thought unable to do, and he was beginning to realize an interest in life, or at least in what was going on in reference to his fellow patient. The words were these:
“This is a hopeless case, is it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long a time do you give him?”
The tone was professional, though not entirely unsympathetic.
“Dr. Sweet says a week; I say three days.”
The stranger bent over the patient, and it was at this point that the watcher’s eyes opened.
“Three days is nearer the mark,” the visitor at last declared.
At which the attending physician bowed.