“A pretty hard sentence that, doctor,” replied the patient between a smile and a sigh.
“We may be thankful if that is all,” Arthur said, adding something in a lower tone about the possibility of internal injury.
“You can not tell yet?” was the response in an enquiring tone.
“Not certainly; yet I am strongly in hopes time will prove that there has been nothing more serious than the wrench of the ankle and the jar to the whole system—quite enough, to be sure.”
“Quite! Ah, Max and Lulu,” as his eye fell upon them. “What, crying, my dear children? You should rather rejoice that your father is alive and able to speak to you.”
“But you are in pain, papa,” sobbed Lulu. “Oh, I wish I could help you to bear it!”
“Ah, my darling, I shall expect a good deal of help from you and the rest while serving out the doctor’s hard sentence,” he said, with an attempt at pleasantry that was almost a failure, his features contracting with pain as he spoke.
“No more talking for the present,” said Arthur.
“My wife—does she know? Keep this from her as long as you can,” said the captain.
“Of course,” returned the doctor; “but it will not be possible to conceal from her that something has happened to you. I hope to be able to tell her shortly that it is nothing more serious than a sprained ankle.”