Chapter Seven.
“That you, Jane?”
“Why, of course it is. Were you really asleep?”
“Asleep? No—yes. I don’t know, Jane. My head’s all gone queer, I think.”
“And no wonder, fighting like that, and never touching a bit of the dinner I brought you up. Yes, your head’s all in a fever, and your poor swelled-up eyes too. That’s better. Now, then, you must take this.”
“What is it?” said the lad, drowsily.
“What is it? Why, can’t you see?”
“No; my head’s all swimming round and round, and my eyes won’t open.”