Drake Vernon was unconscious for some days, and Nell often stole in and stood beside the bed; sometimes she changed the ice bandages, or gave him something to drink. He wandered and talked a great deal, but it was incoherent talk, in which the names of the persons he whispered or shouted were indistinguishable. On the fourth day he recovered consciousness, but was terribly weak, and the doctor would not permit Mrs. Lorton to enter the room.
He put his objection very cleverly.
"I have to think of you, my dear madame," he said. "I don't want two patients on my hands in the same house. Talk him back into delirium!" he added to himself.
All these days Mrs. Lorton continued to "hush," Nell went about with a grave air of suspense, and Dick—it is not given to this historian to describe the state of mind into which incessant repression drove that youth.
On the sixth day, bored to death, and somewhat curious, he strolled into the sick room. Drake Vernon, propped up by pillows, was partaking of beef tea with every sign of distaste.
"How are you getting on, sir?" asked Dick.
The sick man looked at the boy, and nodded with a faint smile.
"I'm better, thanks; nearly well, I devoutly trust."
"That's all right," commented Dick cheerfully. "Thought I'd just look in. Shan't upset you, or disturb you, shall I, sir?"
"Not in the very least," was the reply. "I'm very glad to see you. Won't you sit down? Not there, but some place where I can see you."