"Is it dead?" he asked suddenly, with a reminiscent shudder which set all his bruises aching.
"The white horse? Yes, Dieu merci, it's dead! But you're not to talk or think."
"Give me another kiss, then!"—from which it was apparent that he knew very well what kind of medicine was best adapted to his ailments.
The Doctor came down to see him the very first thing every morning, and now he came quietly in, just as Nance had been administering her latest dose.
"Ah—ha, nurse! What are you doing to my patient!"
"I'm only keeping him quiet, sir, as you told me to," said Nance, with a rosy face.
"It's the doctor you ought to pay, not the patient. Well, my boy, how are we this morning? Head aching yet?"
"It does feel a bit queer. Tell me all about last night, Doctor!"
"Ah—ha, yes—last night! Well, you caught the murderer with a vengeance, my boy—or he caught you,"—and then, seeing the puzzlement in the tired eyes, he briefly explained the whole matter.
"And do you mean it was that awful beast killed the others?"