When one wakes from a heavy, unsatisfying sleep, it is with a vague memory of flitting shadows, of empty spaces, of strange deeds and peculiar sayings. There is also a painful sort of lethargy and an odd sense of personal defeat which is peculiarly annoying.
It was with some such feeling as this that Ashton-Kirk opened his eyes. The first person whom he saw was old Nanon, and she was bathing his head with cold water. Near at hand stood Drevenoff; and seated by a table was Stella Corbin.
"So," said the old servant in a gentle tone that he had not yet heard her speak, "you are better."
The secret agent sat up; his head felt strangely light, and there was a sharp, shooting pain across his scalp. But, for all, there was a smile upon his face.
"I will not pattern by the young lady in the novel or the play and inquire where I am," said he. "But I will ask," and he looked from one to the other, "how I happened to get here."
The old woman gestured toward the Pole.
"Drevenoff found you lying upon the back lawn, unconscious, less than a quarter of an hour ago," she said.
The young man nodded.
"I did not recognize you at first," said he; "I thought it was some one who had wandered in and fallen there. But when Nanon came with the light, we knew you at once."