To-day, however, Edgar was better, and his interest and curiosity began to revive. He had been lifted on to his couch by the open window, and had sent a message to Wyn to bring his black eyes to be looked at, and after a little space of the eager watching of the outdoor world that was always so much to him, he said to Alwyn:
“Where is that letter that you wrote for me? I could read it now, and I’m as much in the dark as the first day I saw you.”
“Here it is,” said Alwyn; “shall I read it to you or tell you about it? Is your head well enough to read it?”
“Oh yes; I can stop if I’m tired. I had rather have it.”
Alwyn gave him the letter, and went on with the one that he was himself writing, while Edgar studied the long document for some time in silence.
Presently Edgar talked a little about the jewels and the chances of their discovery, observing that whoever poked about in the dark or on the quiet, hunting for them, would certainly get shot by the zealous keepers who had laid hands on Alwyn.
“There’s nothing for it but setting the forest on fire,” he said.
“No, no,” said Alwyn, “the jewels are not worth a tree of it.”
Edgar gave him one of his keen glances, under which the colour mounted to Alwyn’s brow.
“My father has given Warren orders to be thorough over it,” he said.