The feeble voice was speaking again.
"What did you say, Val? God forgive me, I cannot keep awake."
Bending close down to catch the words, he could distinguish, even in the darkness, some faint traces of the old familiar smile.
"You used to say—that I had all the luck—but, you remember—at Brenlands—it was the lead captain that got killed."
Jack murmured some reply, he was too worn out and miserable to weep. Once more that terrible struggle to keep his heavy eyes from closing; a dozen times he straightened his back, and groaned in bitterness of spirit at the thought that he could wish to sleep at such a time as this; then once again his head sank under the heavy weight of fatigue and want of rest, and everything became a blank.
Awakening with a start, Jack scrambled to his feet. How long he had slept he could not tell, nor did he realize where he was till the light of a lantern flashing in his eyes brought him to his senses.
"How is—" the question died on his lips.
The surgeon took one keen glance, held the lamp closer, and then raised it again.
"Is he going, sir?"