“He must not be moved,” said Gideon Spilett. “He is in the most favourable position for the wounds in his back and chest to suppurate easily, and absolute rest is necessary.”
“What! can’t we carry him to Granite House?” asked Pencroft.
“No, Pencroft,” replied the reporter.
“I’ll pay the villains off!” cried the sailor, shaking his fist in a menacing manner.
“Pencroft!” said Cyrus Harding.
Gideon Spilett had resumed his examination of the wounded boy. Herbert was still so frightfully pale that the reporter felt anxious.
“Cyrus,” said he, “I am not a surgeon. I am in terrible perplexity. You must aid me with your advice, your experience!”
“Take courage, my friend,” answered the engineer, pressing the reporter’s hand. “Judge coolly. Think only of this: Herbert must be saved!”
These words restored to Gideon Spilett that self-possession which he had lost in a moment of discouragement on
