“Well, everybody’s all right except a few scratches, and I’m choked with thirst.”
Five minutes after he was compounding draughts for himself and the old merchant from a large stone bottle and aqua distil., as the druggists call it; while soon after, over what he called a quiet pipe, he told his adventures to his friend.
It was just about the time when, as Helen’s swarthy head lay upon the cool white pillow in the bungalow spare room, Mrs Bolter poured some cool clear water into a basin, and then dropped in it a goodly portion of aromatic vinegar, which with a sponge she softly applied to Helen’s fevered brow.
Grey held the basin and a white towel, while Mrs Bolter applied the sponge once—twice—thrice—and the weary, half-fainting girl uttered a low moan.
Again Mrs Bolter applied the cool soft sponge to the aching temples, and then, as there was no result but another restful sigh, interrupted this time by a sob, she applied the sponge again after a careful wringing out, still with no effect but to bring forth a sigh.
This time poor Mrs Bolter, who had learned nothing from her lord, took the towel, for she could not resist the temptation, and softly drew it across Helen’s brow, as the poor girl lay there with closed eyes.
The towel was raised from the swarthy forehead, and Mrs Bolter looked at it, to see that it was white as it was before.
This time she exchanged a look of horror with Grey, down whose cheeks the tears flowed fast, as she leant forward and kissed Helen’s lips.
“No, no, don’t touch me,” she moaned, but Grey held her more tightly.
The sobs came fast now as two dark arms were flung round Grey’s white neck, and Mrs Bolter’s eyes grew wet as well, as she drew a long breath, and then sat down by the bedside, saying, softly: