As she thus sat there gazing dreamily into the fire, the man on the cot stirred, uttered a slight moan, opened his eyes and looked at the girl.
"Ah, so you've been keeping watch, have you?" he asked. "Pretty lonely job, isn't it?"
"Not at all," Jean brightly replied, laying aside the book and rising to her feet. "I have been looking at your books. My, what a reader you must be! But why do you read such stuff as that?"
"What stuff? I hope you don't call Shakespeare's works 'stuff.'"
"Oh, I am merely referring to Timon's curse. It is terrible. But, there, I don't want to talk about it. Let me make you a cup of tea. That will do you more good than any book."
"Make it good and strong," the man reminded. "And while you are about it you might as well bring me a noggin of rum. I haven't had any since yesterday morning."
The invalid drank the tea first, and pronounced it excellent. He let the rum remain by his side while he filled and lighted his pipe.
"Did you have a good sleep?" Jean asked as she again sat down by the table. "I hope you feel better."
"I had a fairly good sleep, Miss, although the pain in my side is no better. However, I am used to suffering. So you don't care for Shakespeare, eh?"
"I didn't say that," Jean defended. "But I don't like reading those terrible passages about curses and such like."