"How long?"
"Probably only a few minutes."
As he spoke, the deep-sunk eyes flickered open, surveyed us almost quizzically one by one.
Hugh bent forward, Watkins beside him.
"Do you know me, Uncle James?"
The lips parted, framed words that were barely audible.
"Good lad! Where's—Watkins?"
"'Ere, your ludship," volunteered the valet, with a gulp.
"Send—others—"
Hugh looked up to the senior surgeon.