“Are you suffering, Prince? Do you think you are badly hurt?”
The bright eyes regarded me intently for an instant, after which he turned to the Death’s-Head.
“Leave me, Mai Lo; I would converse with my host,” said he.
The attendant again prostrated himself, this time to his Prince, and retired without a word of protest. But almost immediately the Doctor came hurrying in, and there was protest in both his words and demeanor.
“Look you, Prince Kai,” he said, “this is no time for reckless folly. I gave you morphine to quiet your pain and enable you to sleep, and you positively must not excite yourself and neutralize the effect of the medicine.”
The young man gave him a look half whimsical, half sympathetic.
“My dear Gaylord,” said he, “you have, in your wisdom, numbered the hours remaining to me, and I accept the decree as final. But why should I sleep during those brief hours, when rest eternal will soon be mine?”
The Doctor flushed and cast down his eyes. He was a good-hearted man, and not yet calloused in the presence of death. The Prince smiled upon him in kindly fashion and asked:
“Is there an ample supply of morphine?”
“There is ample, my Prince.”