“I came as soon as I could,” she answered soothingly. “They would not let me see you before. You’ve been very ill. You are getting better now. Soon you will be much stronger, and then we will go home.”
He lay still for a second or so, taking in the significance of her words.
“Home!” he repeated vaguely... “Yes.”
He drew in his breath quiveringly like a tired child, and lay back on the pillow and stared at her with the familiar eyes set in the unfamiliar face. Pamela felt oddly disconcerted by his gaze, and only with difficulty forced herself to meet it. She wished that he would not look at her, wished that he had remained with his face hidden against her breast.
“I should like to go home,” he said.
He spoke with a puzzled intonation as though not quite dear in his mind as to where home was; but very sure of one thing, that home meant being with Pamela, and that he wanted to be with her.
“You’ll stay with me?” he asked presently.
“I will come and see you often,” she answered, “every day. I have come to be with you. As soon as you are able to be moved I will take you away. You must make haste and get strong.”
“Yes,” he said, “get strong. I have had funny dreams,” he added, still keeping his eyes on her face. “I get funny dreams now occasionally,—when I’m awake. That’s strange, isn’t it? Why do I dream when I am awake?”
“That is only weakness,” she replied gently. “Now I am here you won’t dream any more.”