"Good old Billy," he said in gratitude, then turned a silent inquiry on the nurse. She saw the awful heart-hunger in his eyes and, had she followed her impulse, would have thrown a sisterly arm about him in solace, so compelling was the look, so hopeless its message. "Was any—was any one saved with me?" he ventured. "Did any one come with me here? On the boat? For God's sake, nurse, tell me." His quivering life seemed hanging in the balance. The magnitude of his gravity filled the woman with sudden apprehension. She feared equally to tell him or refuse him.
"I was not there, Mr. Carter. I cannot tell," she compromised. "Mr. Saunderson will make his usual call this afternoon. You can ask him; he will doubtless tell you." Partially reassured by this, Carter fell asleep.
When he awoke he felt much stronger. The nurse was standing at the bedside smiling down at him.
"Mr. Saunderson is waiting in the library. If I let him come in to see you, will you be good?"
Carter readily promised, as he would have anything just then, at the opportunity of resolving his doubts. Saunderson was ushered in quietly; when he bent over the patient, the latter wrenched the proffered hand with hysterical strength.
"See here, Carter, this won't do," said his caller, making a wry face; "I believe that you have been shamming these two months."
"Two months?" Carter sat upright. "Have I been laid up that long?"
"To the very day," said Saunderson, smiling.
"Tell me, Billy, how you came to be out there. I want to thank you for saving my life, though I don't know yet whether you have done a wise or a foolish thing."
"So? How soon can you let me know? Dorothy says it's the only sensible, useful thing I've ever done. You always were a favorite of Mrs. Saunderson, you know."