“Maurice Carlyle! But what a fearful wreck?”
She covered her eyes with her hand, and moaned.
The nurse came nearer, and said hesitatingly,—
“Madam, surely he is not your husband? His clothes are almost in tatters, while yours are—ahem!—”
“Spare me all comments on the comparison. Can I obtain a comfortable, quiet room, in this building, and have him removed to it at once? You hesitate? I will compensate you liberally, will pay almost any price for an apartment where he can at least have silence and seclusion.”
“We can accommodate you, but of course if the patient is carried from this ward to a private room, we shall be compelled to charge extra.”
“Charge what you choose, only arrange the matter as promptly as possible. How soon can you make the change?”
“In twenty minutes, madam.”
The nurse rang for an assistant, to whom the necessary instructions were given, and in the interim Mrs. Carlyle leaned against the cot, and brushed away the flies that buzzed about the pitiable victims.
Two men carried the sufferer up a flight of steps, and ere long he was transferred to a large comfortable bed in an airy, well-furnished apartment.