“Mr Jack, sir! Oh!” cried Ned in a voice full of reproach.
“Look here, Ned,” said the doctor, “if you say another word I’ll give you a draught that will send you to sleep for twelve hours.—Now, Jack, my lad, do as I advise. Believe it is for your good. Go and sleep as long as you can. Never mind about it’s being daylight. Ned is quite out of danger, and in a few days, when the poison is quite eliminated, he will be himself again.”
At the words “danger” and “poison” the man’s eyes opened wonderingly, and he looked at Sir John and his young master in turn.
“Yes, Jack, my lad, go.”
“But if—”
“There is no if in the case, my boy,” said the doctor. “It was a battle between the poor fellow’s strength and the poison on that wretched arrow, and Ned has won.”
“Oh!” ejaculated the man softly.
At that moment the captain and Mr Bartlett entered the cabin.
“We have heard all you said,” exclaimed the former, as he came to the side of the couch and took the patient’s hand, to give it a firm grip. “Good lad: well done.”
“And I am very glad, Ned,” said the mate warmly.