He spoke aloud.
"You shiver, Awdrey, are you cold?"
"Not very," replied Awdrey, trying to smile, although his lips chattered. He looked into the fire, and held out one hand to the grateful blaze.
"You'll feel much better after you have taken a prescription which I mean to make up for you. I'll go and prepare it now. Do you mind being left alone?"
"Certainly not. Why should I?"
"He has already forgotten his terrors," thought Dr. Rumsey. "Queer case, incomprehensible. I never met one like it before. In these days, it is true, one comes across all forms of psychological distress. Nothing now ought to be new or startling to medical science, but this certainly is marvellous."
The doctor speedily returned with a plate of cold meat, some bread and butter, and a bottle of champagne.
"As we are both spending the night other than it should be spent," he said, "we must have nourishment. I am going to eat, will you join me?"
"I feel hungry," answered Awdrey. "I should be glad of something."
The doctor fed him as though he were an infant. He drank off two glasses of champagne, and then the color returned to his cheeks, and some animation to his sunken eyes.