“Not an answer will I give to-night, Mr Keene,” said Bob Cross; “to-morrow morning we’ll have the rights and wrongs of the whole story. You must obey orders, sir, and go to sleep.”
As I knew Bob would do as he said, I laid my head down, and was soon once more in forgetfulness. It was not daylight. When I again awoke, and found Cross snoring in the chair by the bedside; poor fellow, he had never lain down since he came on shore, when the captain was first taken ill. I felt much better, although my wounds tingled a little, and I was very anxious to know if Captain Delmar was out of danger; but that could not be ascertained till I saw the surgeon. I remained thinking over the events which had passed. I called to mind that the captain, in his delirium, had called me his own boy, his Percival and I felt more happy.
About an hour after I had awoke, the surgeon came into the room. “How is Captain Delmar, sir?” said I.
“I am glad to say that he is much better; but I must wake up poor Cross, who is tired out.”
Cross, who was awake the moment that we spoke, was now on his legs.
“You must go to the captain, and keep the bed-clothes on him, Cross. He is now in a perspiration, and it must not be checked—do you understand?”
“Yes,” replied Bob, walking away into the other room.
“You are all right again, Keene,” said the surgeon, feeling my pulse; “we will look at your wounds by-and-by, and change the dressing.”
“Tell me, sir,” said I, “how have you managed? Nobody has found it out?”
“Oh, no; it is supposed that Captain Delmar is badly wounded, and that you have the yellow fever, and we must keep it up—that is the reason why Bob Cross is the only one allowed to come into the sick rooms. I have no doubt that Captain Delmar will be sensible in a few hours, and then we shall be puzzled what to say to him. Must we tell him the truth?”