"Cary! Cary! Don't you know me? It's me! It's only Rob!"
But Cary shrank back from his touch.
"I'm frightened," she moaned.
The Lieutenant came and lifted the boy and took him from the room. Trevelyan's son was crying passionately.
The excitement proved to be the worst possible thing for Cary. The fever ran higher and sapped and sapped her strength and still she moaned and cried in her delirium and still sleep did not come.
"She can't grow much worse and stay alive," muttered the post surgeon, "And something has got to be done."
He went down stairs in search of Johnny. He found the boy standing by the window, his white face turned toward the sea. Rob, his passion of tears spent, lay sleeping heavily on the lounge. The surgeon touched the elder boy on the arm and motioned him to follow him. Outside in the little square hall, they faced each other—the skilled man of science, and the delicately featured English boy with the firm mouth.
"You're going to take me to Cary?"
The surgeon nodded.
"Yes. She wouldn't see Rob, but perhaps she'll see you. I've an idea she will. She's been calling your name all day. If I take you to her, will you be very quiet?"