“No, not just now, because I have been lying here. Some one nursing me—yes,” he cried, with more energy, as his eyes rested on Mrs John’s sympathetic face, “you.”
“We have all nursed you,” said Mrs John, quietly. “But do not try to talk.”
“No,” he said, decisively; “but—there is one thing—must say—my claim—the gold.”
I saw Mr Raydon’s face pucker up, and a frown gather on his brow, but it cleared away directly, and he bent down over his patient, and laid his hand upon his forehead.
“Gunson, you must be quiet,” he said. “Your claim is quite safe. I have men protecting it, and no gold has been found or taken away.”
“Thank heaven!” sighed Gunson; and giving a grateful look round he closed his eyes, and seemed to go to sleep.
“Come away now,” whispered Mr Raydon. “You will stay with him?”
Mrs John bowed her head, and softly took the chair by the pillow, while we all stole gently out of the room.
“His first waking thought, John,” said Mr Raydon, bitterly; “gold—gold—gold. There, it is of no use to murmur: I must swallow my pet antipathy, I suppose.”
Once more the thought of all Mr Gunson had said to me came as words to my lips; but though my friend was being wrongly judged, I felt that I could not speak.