“Ill? Yes, I feel so weak,” he muttered, as he struggled to penetrate the mist which seemed to shut him in, till the nurse’s next words gave him a clue to the way out.
“We do not even know who you are; only that they suppose you to be a sailor who has just left his ship.”
“Heath—Mark Heath,” he said quickly.
“Ah! And your friends? We want to communicate with them.”
“My friends! No; it would frighten her, poor little girl!”
“The cause for alarm is passed,” said the nurse gravely.
“Yes. Ah! I begin to recollect now,” he said. “Send to Miss Heath—my sister—19 Upper Brunswick Avenue, Bloomsbury.”
“Yes; and now lie still.”
The nurse left him, and he lay thinking, and gradually finding in the mist the pieces of the puzzle of his past adventure, till he seemed to have them nearly all there.
Then came the doctor with a few words of encouragement.