The assistant walked slowly, adapting himself to Trevelyan's halting steps, and he braced his arm against the weight Trevelyan had thrown upon it. He did not speak again, and Trevelyan did not question him further.
Trevelyan's big frame reeled across the threshold, when, after what seemed to him an interminable time, the assistant led him into the room where Stewart lay. He caught himself up immediately, however, and stared at the group around the bed. The Colonel was there and one of the older officers, and Mackenzie was leaning over something long and still that lay stretched on the bed. The dead weight suddenly increased on Vaughan's arm and he winced with the pain. The two officers near the foot of the bed turned at the shuffling footsteps and Mackenzie looked up for an instant. Then he went back to feeling Stewart's pulse, and without glancing around again, spoke quietly to his assistant.
"The other syringe—this doesn't work just right."
The assistant went away and returned with the syringe. Trevelyan was left standing alone in the middle of the room. No one noticed him. He waited until the hypodermic stimulant had been administered and Mackenzie had straightened himself from his stooping position over the bed. Then he came forward, and pushed his way past the Colonel and the officer and Vaughan and Mackenzie, and leaned over the bed.
"John," he said.
The head turned on the pillow slowly, and Stewart looked up at him. He made an almost imperceptible motion of recognition with his head.
"You sent for me?"
"Yes," Stewart said, weakly.
Trevelyan remained motionless, and no one spoke. The Colonel, at the foot of the bed, stirred a little.
Stewart's hot hands drew the covering up between his fingers and crushed it with a sudden strength, born of a terrible agony. He turned his eyes to Mackenzie.