“Oh yes, uncle,” said Vane rather faintly, “only my head feels weak and strange, and as if I couldn’t think.”
“Then don’t try,” said the doctor, and for another day or two Vane was kept quiet.
But all the time there was a curious mental effervescence going on as the lad lay in bed, the object of every one’s care; and until he could clearly understand why he was there, there was a constant strain and worry connected with his thoughts.
“Give him time,” the doctor used to say to Aunt Hannah, “and have confidence in his medical man. When nature has strengthened him enough his mind will be quite clear.”
“But are you sure, dear?” said Aunt Hannah piteously; “it would be so sad if the poor fellow did not quite recover his memory.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the doctor, “this comes of having some one you know by heart for medical attendant. You wouldn’t have asked Doctor White or Doctor Black such a question as that.”
“It is only from anxiety, my dear,” said Aunt Hannah; “I have perfect confidence in you. It is wonderful how he is improved.”
Just then two visitors arrived in the shape of Gilmore and Macey.
They had come to make inquiries on account of the rector, they said; and on hearing the doctor’s report, Macey put in a petition on his own account.
“Let you go up and sit with him a bit?” said the doctor. “Well, I hardly know what to say. He knows us now; but will you promise to be very quiet?”