“Three days anyway, and possibly longer.”
“Not over three hours longer,” he replied.
She smiled, but shook her head and moved away.
It was broad daylight now. He felt of his head––it was done up in turban-like bandages. He looked around for his clothes; they were put away. The problem of getting out looked a difficult one. But he must. He tried again to think back as to what had happened to him. Who had placed him in the carriage and given 62 orders to the driver? Had it been done to get rid of him or out of kindness? Had it been done by the priest or by Sorez? Above all, what in the meanwhile had become of his comrade?
When the visiting surgeon came in, Wilson told him quite simply that he must leave at once.
“Better stay, boy. A day here now may save you a month.”
“A day here now might spoil my life.”
“A day outside might cost it.”
“I’m willing.”
“Well, we can’t hold you against your will. But think again; you’ve received an ugly blow there and it has left you weak.”