All that he could see was Virgie's face as she stooped over him.
He knew—though how he could hardly say—that he was lying in her arms. A keen air blew upon him, his hand, which lay at his side, could feel short turf beneath it. He was coming back—beginning to make use once more of his outward senses.
"Do you know me?" she asked, bending over him. Her eyes were full of an intense purpose; there was no shyness, no consciousness—only a vehement desire.
He took a long breath, gathered all his force, and whispered huskily:
"My—wife!"
He saw the sweet face into which he gazed contract pitifully, and the shoulders shake with sobbing.
"There, there, that will do, Mrs. Gaunt," ordered Dr. Dymock peremptorily. "He will be all right now. You're utterly worn out. Lay him down and come away."
"Try—try first, if he will drink," she gasped, while the heart against his ear functioned violently.
He drank, for she told him that he must do so. Obviously she had to be obeyed. Then they laid him down, and raised her up, and took her away, out of his sight. This was too much. He felt it to be an outrage, when he had come back such a tremendous distance, just to be with her. "Virginia," he said, quite clearly.
Dymock bent towards him. "All right, old man, she is close by. You shall go home with her quite soon. She is a bit tired, that's all. You must try not to be inconsiderate."