“Well,” he said, “I have evidently been very sick. How did I get here? I don’t seem to remember.”
“Miss Waynefleet found you lying in the snow in the clearing.”
“Ah!” said Nasmyth––“a tall girl with a quiet voice, big brown eyes, and splendid hair?”
Gordon smiled. “Well,” he said, “that’s quite like her.”
“Where is she now?” asked Nasmyth; and though he was very feeble still, there was a certain expectancy in his manner.
“In the barn, I believe. The working oxen have to be fed. It’s very probable that you will see her in the next half-hour. As to your other question––you were very sick indeed––pneumonia. Once or twice it seemed a sure thing that you’d slip through our fingers. Where were you coming from when you struck the clearing?”
Nasmyth, who had no reason for reticence, and found his mind rapidly growing clearer, briefly related what had led him to set out on his journey through the Bush, and his companion nodded.
“It’s very much as I expected,” he said. “They paid you off before you left that logging camp?”
“They did,” said Nasmyth, who was pleased to recall the fact. “I had thirty-two dollars in my belt.”