“Yes.”
“And then?”
“I gave him some gruel and commanded him to go to sleep.”
“And he obeyed you. I couldn’t have done better myself. Now you must keep the promise you made me. Take a short walk; then eat something and seek the rest you so much need. I don’t want to see you back here until to-morrow morning. Come—you must do as I say.”
Listlessly, pathetically, La Violette left the cabin; and Bradford took her place by Douglas’s couch.
Ross improved very slowly. It was the first of February before he could totter across the room and take a peep at the outer world. He was greatly reduced in flesh and strength; he was nervous and irritable. His muscles were soft, his buoyant disposition was gone, and his mind seemed feeble and apathetic. Bradford and La Violette did all they could to cheer and encourage him—but in vain. Like a water-logged vessel, he drifted this way and that in the eddy of conflicting emotions—and made little progress toward the haven of health.
Out of patience, at last, Bradford said to him:
“Look here, young man! Do you want to get well? If you do, you’ve got to rouse yourself. Shake off your lethargy and be a man. You’re acting the baby. I’m ashamed of you.”
Ross proudly straightened his thin form. His nostrils dilated and quivered. Something like his old self-reliance flashed in his hollow eyes, as he cried in piping tones: