“Quite right,” said the surgeon.
And then he rang the bell.
“Would you like black tea, cream toast, and poached eggs?” inquired the surgeon.
He was answered by the regulation nod.
The waiter came, and received the surgeon’s orders to prepare the required refreshments and to send the valet to the room.
And when Simms entered, and while waiting for the breakfast to be prepared, the surgeon, assisted by the valet, changed the dressings of the patient’s wounds, and made him clean and fresh and comfortable, so that he might be able to enjoy the delicate repast that had been ordered for him.
After his change of clothes, and his nourishing breakfast, he was laid down again upon fresh pillows, and his bed was tidied and his room darkened, and he himself was enjoined to rest.
And rest was of vital importance to him; for though his wounds were now doing well, yet the effort to speak, or to move, was still not only difficult and painful, but very injurious and even dangerous to his lacerated chest. So he was enjoined to rest.
Rest?
His bed was fresh and fragrant, and on it there might be rest for the pain-racked, wearied body. But what rest could there be for the newly awakened mind and startled conscience?