"You are weak, my sweet master," he urged. "In a little time you will become faint for want of food, you will grow delirious, and perhaps just then the captain will ask for you."
I stretched out my hand for the food eagerly, alarmed by Sándor's suggestion, as the worthy fellow intended I should be.
It must have done me good, though I ate and drank mechanically, hardly knowing, indeed, what I did.
The morning passed very slowly. Twice the kind-hearted surgeon returned; but, as he had said, nothing could be done--we had only to wait for the end.
Towards the middle of the afternoon I discovered Rakoczy standing near me.
He had been badly wounded, and his proper place was in the hospital; but, like a stanch friend, he had come directly his hurts were dressed to share my grief.
"Is there no hope?" he asked.
I shook my head. "The surgeon says he will die before the day is out."
"Poor old Stephen!"
That was all--not a long rigmarole of words, but just a few that came from his heart.