I laughed aloud.
"I have not felt so well for months, Simpson."
He looked at me dubiously, I thought, and seemed anything but satisfied.
"Are you ready for your lunch, sir?"
"Lunch?" I replied. "Haven't I had lunch?"
Making my way into my little bedroom, I caught a glimpse of my face. I hardly recognized myself! Pale as I had always been since my illness, my pallor had been nothing to the white, drawn, haggard face which I saw in the glass. But for the wild glitter in my eyes, it might have been the face of a dead man, and yet every particle of my being seemed instinct with life.
After pretending to eat some of the lunch which Simpson had prepared for me, an unusual languor crept over me, and throwing myself on the couch, I quickly fell asleep.
I was awakened by a sound of voices at the door, and I started up quickly. As far as I could judge, I suffered no evil results from the excitement through which I had passed. Whatever had caused me unnatural strength, its influence had not yet departed.
"Simpson," I said, "whom have you got there?"
"I beg your pardon, sir, but I have just told Mr. Lethbridge that he could not see you. I did not think you looked well, sir."