“Oh, he is no prisoner, madam,” said the lieutenant. “Will you come with me? You will find him doing duty in what we term the sick bay—the infirmary—where are several of our wounded men.”
The lady uttered a faint sob, and looking more and more troubled, suffered herself to be led to where poor Jack Jeens, looking very white and thin, lay back close to an open port-hole, listening to something Phil was reading from a book.
Unseen at first, the visitor stopped short, gazing wonderingly at her little nephew neatly rigged up in nautical style, bending over the book he held, and evidently enjoying his task.
“Phil!” whispered the lady; but the boy did not look up, only went on reading.
But Jack Jeens heard, and he started where he lay, guessed the object of the visit, and stretched out a hand to seize the boy.
“I’m not tired, Jack,” cried Phil. “I can go on reading for—O, Auntie!” he shouted joyously, and dropping the book as he sprang up, he bounded into the lady’s arms, to begin kissing her passionately again and again.
“Phil—my darling!” she sobbed. “Have I found you again?”
“Yes, Auntie dear,” cried the little fellow, “but—” He struggled from her embrace and darted behind Jack Jeens, gazing wildly around.
“Is Uncle there?” he whispered, hoarsely.