As it happened, the patient did exactly what the doctor wished: he slept, or, rather, sank into a state of stupor which lasted for many hours, came to his senses again, partook of a little food, and then dropped asleep once more; and this was repeated for days before he thoroughly recovered, and then began of his own volition to speak of his experience.
It was about a week after his mishap, in the evening, when Dickenson, just returned from a skirmish in which the Boers had been driven back, was seated beside his rough couch watching him intently.
“Don’t sit staring at me like that, old fellow,” said Lennox suddenly. “You look as if you thought I was going to die.”
“Not you! You look a lot better to-night.”
“I am, I know.”
“How?” asked Dickenson laconically.
“Because I’ve begun to worry about not being on duty and helping.”
“Yes; that’s a good sign,” said Dickenson. “Capital. Feel stronger?”
“Yes. It’s just as if my strength has begun to come back all at once. Did you drive off the enemy to-day?”
“Famously. Gave them a regular licking.”