He opened his eyes, and then he felt that he was terribly weak. He looked up and saw Ruth—his Ruth, with swollen eyes and a white, worn face, bending over him.
Then he remembered that he had been on the railway, and that there had been a collision. He could not move; he felt that there were bandages about his body, and he had a fearful, terrible pain in his chest and body. He tried to speak, and his voice came in a thin, weak whisper.
Ruth was bending low, kneeling by his side. There were grave doctors standing by the bed, and a woman who looked like a nurse.
Then he knew that he was in the hospital. His head felt, oh, to queer and strange, and everything seemed swimming about him.
‘Do you know me, Edward darling?’ whispered Ruth.
‘Yes, you are Ruth,’ he said, feebly. ‘Am I hurt?’
Ruth’s sweet eyes were filled with tears again in a moment, and she nodded her head.
The doctor came up and bent over him, and looked at him anxiously.
‘You are a doctor?’ whispered the injured man.
‘Yes.’