"Yes, Jerry-Jo, I see. Please lie still now. It shall be as you wish. You have been—very good—for my sake!"
"I've starved and slept in dark holes—for you, and now you and him—have got to take care of me—or—I'll tell! I'll tell, as sure as God hears me!"
"We will take care of you, Jerry-Jo. There! there! I promise; and you know we of the In-Place stand by each other."
He was comforted at last, and fell into the deep sleep of exhaustion. Occasionally, in the days following, he opened his tired eyes and gave evidence of consciousness. He was drifting out calmly and painlessly, and all the coarseness and degeneracy of the half-breed seemed dropping by the way. Sometimes his glance rested on Doctor Travers's face, for the young physician was deeply interested in the case and was touched by the lonely, unclaimed fellow who had served science, but could derive no benefit in return. Often Jerry-Jo's dark eyes fell upon the pitying face of Priscilla Glenn with ever-growing understanding and kindliness. Sometimes in the long nights he clung to her like a child, for she was very good to him; very, very devoted.
One night, when all the world seemed sleeping, he whispered to her:
"You—you don't know, really?"
Priscilla thought he was wandering, and said gently:
"No, Jerry-Jo, really I do not know."
"What will you give me—if I tell you the biggest secret in the world?"
She had his head in the hollow of her arm; he was resting more calmly so. He had been feverish all day.