“Oh, sir!” faltered the woman, “it’s nothing to him; and I’m only the nurse.”
“There, I don’t want to know,” said Oldroyd. “Can I go up?”
“Oh yes, sir, please,” cried the woman, who was only too glad to change the conversation after her lapse, “you’ll find him nice and tidy.”
“Care to come and see my patient, Alleyne?” said Oldroyd.
“Thanks, yes, I may as well,” and he followed the doctor up into the low room, where the truth of the woman’s assertions were plainly to be seen. The wounded man, lying upon coarse linen that was exquisitely clean, while the partially covered boards were as white as constant scrubbing could make them.
“Well, Hayle, how are you going on? I’ve brought a friend of mine to see you.”
The man whose eyes and cheeks were terribly sunken, and who looked worn out with his late journey to the very gates of death, from which he was slowly struggling back, raised one big gnarled hand heavily to his forelock, and let it fall again upon the bed.
“Steady, sir, steady. Glad to see you, sir, glad to see him, sir. He’s welcome like. Sit you down, sir; sit you down.”
Alleyne took the stool that was nearest and sat down watching the man curiously, as Oldroyd examined his bandages, and then asked a few questions.
“You’re going on right enough,” he said at last. “Capitally.”