That day there were no calls upon the Hakim for help, and he was able to devote himself entirely to Frank, upon whom his ministrations had the best effect.
In fact, he woke that night as if out of a long sleep looked wonderingly at Sam, and seemed puzzled by the bandages laid across his head. Then as if realising that he had been ill, he lay perfectly still, thinking, till the doctor came to his side a short time later, when he took and pressed the hand which felt his pulse and head, nodded gently, and proved at once that the fit of delirium had quite passed away, for he said in a whisper—
“Don’t say anything. I know I have been ill. But tell me: any news of Harry?”
“Not yet, my dear boy. We must have patience.”
“Yes, Frank, lad,” said the professor cheerily, “patience.”
Frank bowed his head softly and let his eyelids drop, lying perfectly still for some little time.
“Drowsy, Frank?” said the doctor at last. But there was no reply. All was silent but the distant sound of shouting and uproar, as if the newcomers to the city were quarrelling with their friends.
The silence startled the professor, who looked from their new patient to the doctor, and back again searchingly; but the latter paid no heed.
“Is this right?” he said at last, anxiously.
“Yes, perfectly right. What I have given him has checked the fever, and he will sleep from exhaustion for many hours to come. But we must watch by him through the night, in case there should be any relapse. I do not think there will be, but we will be upon our guard.”