“Is this a hospital?” he said eagerly.
“Yes.”
“And I have met with some accident—hurt?”
“No,” was the reply; “not an accident. You have been ill.”
“Ill? How came I here?”
He looked wildly in the calm soft face before him, and behind it there seemed to be a dense mental mist which he could not penetrate. There was the nurse; and as he lay, it seemed to him that he could think as far as their presence there, and no further.
“You had better wait till the doctor has been round.”
“If you don’t tell me what all this means,” he said impetuously, “you will make me worse.”
She laid her hand upon his forehead, to find that it was perfectly cool, and he caught her fingers in his as she was drawing them away. “Don’t keep me in suspense,” he said piteously.
“Well, I will tell you. The police brought you here a fortnight ago. They found you lying in a doorway, drenched with water and fast asleep. You were quite delirious, and you have been very ill.”