“Only a little!” said West eagerly. “Pray tell me, he will get better?”
“Oh yes: there’s no doubt about it, I believe.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” cried West fervently. “But what place is this?”
“This? Why, Kimberley, of course!”
“Ah!” cried West excitedly, and his hand went to his breast. “My jacket!”
“Your jacket?” said the nurse. “Oh, that was all cut and torn, and soaked with blood. I think it has been burnt.”
“What!” cried West. “Oh, don’t say that!”
“Hush, hush! What is this?” said a deep, stern voice. “Patient delirious, nurse?”
A quiet, grave-looking face was bent over West’s pillow, and the poor fellow jumped at the idea that this must be the surgeon.
“No, sir; no, sir!” he whispered excitedly, catching at the new-comer’s arm. “I am better: it is only that I am in trouble about my clothes.”