"Here is a cab passing. Let us get him into it; there is no time to lose."
A dozen arms were ready to assist him, but Basil had grown so thin that the kind doctor lifted him with ease, and put him in the cab. Then, giving the driver the address which he obtained from Mrs. Chaytor, they drove off quickly, Mrs. Chaytor holding Basil in her arms, and crooning over him as the priceless treasure of her life.
[CHAPTER XXXI.]
"Am I awake or dreaming?" This was the thought that passed through Basil's mind as he opened his eyes. Two weeks had passed since he had been rescued from death; and for the most of that time he had been unconscious. But certain floating impressions were his, which now, as his eyes travelled round the walls of the room in which he lay, he endeavoured to recall. It was not without difficulty that he succeeded, but after long and determined--if in his weak state such a word may be used--effort, these impressions began to marshal themselves. But just at the moment that memory reasserted its power an interruption occurred, and Basil, bent upon his mental task, closed his eyes, and waited once more for solitude.
An old woman stole softly into the room, and crept with noiseless tread close to his bed. She stooped over him, kissed him tenderly, arranged the bedclothes about him, smoothed his pillow, and kissed him again. What touched his feelings deeply was the exceeding tenderness of these kisses, which could only have been bestowed upon one who was very dear. What meaning lay in this strange tenderness to him who not so long since was forsaken by all, and coming from one whose face was absolutely unfamiliar to him? For with excusable cunning he had partially raised his lids without being observed, and his half-veiled eyes rested upon the woman who was attending him. She was an old woman with grey and white hair, and there were signs of deep suffering on her lined face. She looked like one who had experienced great trouble, but Basil noted also in her countenance an expression of gratitude which relieved the weight of years and care which lay heavy upon her. He allowed his lids to droop, and setting aside awhile the task upon which he was engaged when she entered the room, ransacked his memory for a clue. He could find none, even though his mental efforts sent him wandering weakly among his childhood's days. While thus engaged, with his eyes still closed, he was conscious that another person had entered the room, and the words which passed between them reached his senses.
"Good morning," in the cheerful voice of a man.
"Good morning, doctor."
"Doctor! He was being cared for, then, and friends were by his side. Of this he was assured; he required no further proof than the tender actions of the woman and the soft voice in which she returned the doctor's greeting. But why should these stranger's care for him? for strangers to him they were, though their intentions could not be doubted.
"How is our patient this morning?"
"No worse, I hope, doctor. He has been very, very quiet."