A few steps within the room Elfie met the assistant surgeon, and stopped him to put the same questions she had already put to the sister.
“He is much better, doctor, isn’t he? He will recover, won’t he?”
“We have good reason to hope so, Madam,” answered the surgeon.
“But I cannot get him to take any nourishment. He has no appetite; only a great thirst, and he will take nothing except lemonade,” complained Elfie.
“Then do not force nourishment upon him. Give him the drink he craves,” said the surgeon hurrying past her to attend to his other business.
Elfie went down between the two rows of little white beds until she came to the corner where Albert Goldsborough lay.
He was wide awake, and waiting for her. He seemed refreshed, and cheerful.
“I have been looking for you, my darling. The doctor has given me an opiate, and ordered me to go to sleep, as if one could go to sleep to order! I could not do so without your hand in mine. Sit by my bed, dear Elfie, and let me feel that you are there while I sink to rest,” he said.
And Elfie took up her old position, with her hand clasped in his, and her cheek on the edge of his pillow.