It was terrible to witness his pain; but Mr Tooke never left him all day. He chafed his hands, he gave him drink; he told him he had no doubt his mother would arrive soon; he encouraged him to say or do anything that he thought would give him ease.
“Cry, my dear,” he said, “if you want to cry. Do not hide tears from me.”
“I can’t help crying,” sobbed Hugh: “but it is not the pain,—not only the pain; it is because you are so kind!”
“Where is Phil?” he said at last.
“He is so very unhappy, that we think he had better not see you till this pain is over. When you are asleep, perhaps.”
“Oh! When will that be?” and poor Hugh rolled his head on the pillow.
“George rides fast; he is far on his way by this time,” said Mr Tooke. “And one or other of the surgeons will soon be here; and they will tell us what to do, and what to expect.”
“Do tell Phil so,—will you?”
Mr Tooke rang the bell; and the message was sent to Phil, with Hugh’s love.
“Will the surgeon hurt me much, do you think?” Hugh asked. “I will bear it. I only want to know.”