A spoonful of cordial was held to the poor fellow’s lips, and this he swallowed.
“Have—have I—been long ill? How——”
Ingomar smiled, but shook his head.
“Don’t speak just yet awhile,” he half whispered. “You have been ill, but now I think you will recover. Be of good cheer. I’ll go for the doctor now.”
When he returned with Wright, Ruby the dog was sitting by the bed with his cheek resting softly on his master’s hand.
It was such a pretty show of affection that Ingomar would not disturb him.
Not long after this Curtis had fallen into a gentle sleep, and his nurse had resumed his watch.
The change, the happy change, had come during that sleep, the clogged wheels of life were once more moving steadily round, and when the doctor again entered the cabin, he pronounced him out of danger.
It was not until next night, however, and in the stillness of a night just like its predecessor, that the patient was allowed to talk a little, for Dr. Wright’s orders were very peremptory, and were being carried out to the letter.
“Hans Armstrong,” said Curtis, quietly, “you may tell me all.”