THE PATIENT AND THE VISITOR.
In a private ward of a New York City hospital lay Felipe Jalisco so hidden with bandages that scarcely more than his eyes could be seen. The patient's hands and wrists were likewise hidden by bandages.
The door of the room opened gently, and a white-gowned, white-capped, soft-footed nurse stepped in.
"A visitor to see you," she said, in a low tone.
She was followed at once by Frank Merriwell, who stepped quickly to the side of the cot, a look of deep sympathy and regret in his brown eyes as he gazed down at the patient.
The dark eyes that looked back at him seemed filled with wonderment and surprise.
Stooping over the cot, Merriwell spoke in his gentlest tones.
"How are you, my poor boy?" he said. "They would not let me see you before, saying it was best that you should be quiet and unexcited."
From amid the bandages a soft voice answered:
"They tell me I shall get well, Señor Merriwell, but I shall be horribly scarred during all the rest of the life which I may live. It is good to live, but it is terrible to be hideous."