“Turn the lads’ heads too much, sir. They’re proud and vain enough as it is.”
“Very well, never mind. Good-night.”
“Good-night, sir.”
Wyatt was left alone now with Dick, and, light in hand, the first thing he did was to close and fasten the windows, and then carefully examine the rooms and stairs, before telling the men to lie down again.
“Why, Dick,” he said suddenly, “I never thought to tell Hulton and the doctor what was going on. Let’s go and tell them now.”
They took the light and went gently to the room shared by the two convalescents, to find that people still weak from old injuries sleep deeply. For in each case, undisturbed by the sentry’s carbine, the noise of the search, and the flitting about of lights, there lay the two, sleeping as placidly as children, making their friends step back gently on tiptoe, to laugh softly together as they went back to their own quarters, where Wyatt became serious directly.
“Can you sleep after this?” he said.
“Oh, yes, I think so,” replied Dick; “I feel very tired now.”
“It means being half-smothered in future, old fellow,” said Wyatt, “for I shall never care to rest with my window open again.”
Dick laughed softly.