CHAPTER X.
SUNDAY EVENING.
Where I was, why I was where I was, and what time of the day or night it might happen to be—were questions which presented themselves to my mind in hazy succession, as, roused from my slumbers by the hum of voices, I woke slowly to the consciousness that, though I had been asleep, I was not in bed. It was only by a very gradual process of recollection that the past came back upon me almost like a fresh story, and I was at least a minute rubbing my eyes, and collecting my thoughts, before I took in all the familiar objects in the room, from the sofa on which I found myself reposing, to the fire-place at which, with their backs turned to me, my father and Dr. Wilson were in close conversation. My father's voice was low and serious, and at the moment when, having finished the process of awakening, I was going to speak, his words came slowly and distinctly to my ears, and sank down into my heart:—
"The thought of his parents' grief on hearing of the death—such a death, too!—of their only child, has been almost more than I could bear."
Aleck was dead!—there was no hope left! I thought; and with a piteous exclamation of grief, I turned round and hid my face in my hands, leaning up against the sofa.
In another moment my father was at my side. I felt his arm encircling me as he drew me towards him, and bending down, whispered softly,—
"It is no time for grief now, Willie; I was speaking of what might have been; let us give God thanks, for the danger is over—Aleck is spared to us."
I slowly drew back my hands from my face. The relief was so great I could scarcely believe in it; and I must have appeared—as I certainly felt—utterly bewildered, whilst I tried to find words, and only at last succeeded in repeating my father's mechanically:
"The danger is over—Aleck is spared to us."