“Help us! yes, of course you can! You shall help us to get Mr Carstairs away!”
“Poor fellow; yes!” he said softly, and in so kindly a way that I crept closer and took his hand. “We tried several times to escape, but they overtook us, and treated us so hard that of late we had grown resigned to our fate.”
I exchanged glances with the doctor, who signed to me to be silent.
“It was a very hard one—very hard!” the wounded man continued, and then he stopped short, looking straight before him at the forest, seen through the opening of the cave.
By degrees his eyelids dropped, were raised again, and then fell, and he seemed to glide into a heavy sleep.
The doctor motioned us to keep away, and we all went to the mouth of the cave, to sit down and talk over the night’s adventure, the conversation changing at times to a discussion of our friend’s mental affection.
“The shock of the wound has affected his head beneficially, it seems,” the doctor said at last. “Whether it will last I cannot say.”
At least it seemed to me that the doctor was saying those or similar words from out of a mist, and then all was silent.
The fact was that I had been out all night, exerting myself tremendously, and I had now fallen heavily asleep.