“An humble missionary,—a weak vessel,” said Paul, whiningly. “In a paroxysm of his pain he caught me thus, and has held me ever since. There—at last I am free!” And as he said these words, the sick man's fingers unclasped and liberated him.
“There has been foul play here,” said Mr. Reggie, the stranger in civilian dress. “See! that box has been rifled; the floor is covered with papers. This man must be detained.”
“In bonds or in a dungeon, it matters not,” said Paul, holding up his hands as if about to open a lengthy discourse; but he was hurried away ere he could continue.
“He is certainly no worse,” said one of the surgeons, as he felt Conway's pulse and examined the action of his heart; “but I am far from saying that he will recover!”
“If I do not greatly mistake,” said Reggis, “our friend the missionary is the man through whose kind offices I was betrayed within the Russian lines; but I' ll look to this later. As it was, I have had little to complain of my treatment in Sebastopol, and my detention was of the shortest.”
“And Miss Kellett,—is she free also?” asked one of the bystanders.
“Yes; we came back together. She is up at headquarters, giving Lord Raglan an account of her capture.”
“What is it, Conway?” asked one of the surgeons, suddenly startled by the intensity of the anxiety in his face. “Are you in pain?”
He shook his head in dissent.
“You are thirsty, perhaps? Will you have something to drink?”