It seemed that the next moment he awoke in the room he had so recently left. Dr. Nicholls was at his side. "A normal pulse," he said, smiling into Rod's enquiring face. "You're a wonder. What do you think of that, nurse?"
"I expected that," she said, smiling.
"You've behaved so well," continued the doctor, "that I believe you're able to receive two pieces of good news."
"My father," whispered Roderick. The doctor nodded happily. "A telegram came half-an-hour ago. It reads, 'Out of danger, no need to come, will write. E. Brians.'" Roderick felt the tears slipping over his cheek. The nurse wiped them away. He was remembering it all now. The Presence had been with his father too.
"You haven't asked about my other news," said the doctor.
Roderick looked at him enquiringly. He was thinking of Helen, and had forgotten all about the operation.
"Berger saved your arm. And it will be as fit as ever in a few months. It was the most delicate kind of operation, and one of the finest he ever did. I shall tell you more about it later, you must be quiet now. But I must give you Dr. Berger's message. He had to leave for Halifax, but he said he wished he could congratulate you on your nerve. I don't know what you did to get hold of yourself in such a hurry, but you saved your own life. Now, I've told you enough. You must neither speak nor be spoken to until I see you again."
He smiled again, radiant with the true scientist's joy over such a triumph of skill as Roderick's arm presented, and left the room.
And Roderick, who knew so much more about it all than mere science could ever teach, closed his eyes and lay still, his whole soul raising to its new-found God one inarticulate note of thanksgiving.