“I’m glad.”
She stooped gently and kissed his thin cheek.
“I’ve been dreaming so much,” he whispered. “Will you tell me exactly what happened—just before my illness—something happened here?”
In a low murmur she told him.
When she stopped he waited as if expecting more, and then he whispered—
“I thought so—yes.”
And he sighed heavily.
“You’re tired, darling,” she said; “you must take a little wine.”
“I hate it,” he whispered—“tired of it.”
“But, darling, the doctor says you must—and—for my sake won’t you?”