CHAPTER XXVIII. OTHO KILLIGREW'S LAST MOVE.
I suppose I must have been sorely ill, for consciousness did not return to me for some time, and even when it did I was much bewildered and sadly weak. My memory played me many tricks, too, and I have been told since that my words were wellnigh meaningless. Hugh Boscawen sent for the doctor whose drugs had done me so much good the previous day, and on his arrival I was put to bed, and after having drunk a large quantity of the decoction he prepared, I became unconscious again. I suppose the stuff must have been a kind of sleeping draught, for although it was yet morning when I had been put to bed, daylight was altogether gone when I awoke. The room in which I lay was lighted by means of a candle, and by my side sat Mr. Inch the doctor.
"How long have I been asleep?" I asked.
"At the least twelve hours," and Dr. Inch laughed cheerfully.
"Twelve hours!" I cried aghast.
"Twelve hours, and verily I believe your life hath been saved thereby. I will now take away a little blood, and in a few days you will be well."
This he said in evident good-humour with himself, as though he had effected a wondrous cure.
"Twelve hours!" I cried again; "then Otho hath fifteen hours' start of me."
"I know not what you mean. My care hath been that you should have necessary rest and restoration. This you have had. You are much better now, are you not?"
"Oh, I am all right," I said, sitting up in my bed; and indeed I felt quite refreshed and strong. "But where am I?"