“No,” said he, with the faintest possible utterance.
“What is it, then, my poor fellow?” said he, affectionately.
“So it was not a dream!” gasped out Conway.
“What was it you fancied to be a dream?”
“All,—everything but this!” And he pointed to a deep wound from a sabre-cut in his shoulder.
“Ay, and that, too, will be as a dream some years hence!” said the other, cheeringly.
It was evident, now, that the excitement of talking and seeing so many persons about him was injurious, and the surgeons silently motioned to the bystanders to retire.
“May I remain with him?” asked the lawyer. “If he could give his consent to certain measures, sign one or two papers, years of litigation might be saved.”
Conway had meanwhile beckoned to the surgeon to approach him; and then, as the other leaned over the bed, he whispered,—
“Was it true what I have just heard,—was she really here?”