“You!” with another curious look. “I suppose you’ve plenty of servants?”
“Yes.”
“They would do to look after a chap like me; and”—speaking more humbly than he had yet done—“this is too fine a room to upset on my account.”
This was encouraging; it showed that the wretch had a little feeling and regret for the trouble he was giving.
Earle bent nearer and said, in a friendly tone:
“I shall not trust you to the care of servants until the doctor pronounces your wound to be mending. If you should be neglected ever so little, there is no telling what the result might be. As for the room, you need give yourself no uneasiness about it; you are to have just as much attention as if you were my friend or my brother. Now try to forget that you have been my enemy, as I shall; for as you are situated now, I feel only sympathy for you. You must not talk any more, but try to get some rest.”
Earle smoothed the tumbled bed-clothes, changed the wet cloth upon the sufferer’s burning head, drew down the curtains to shade the light from his eyes, and was about to seat himself at a distance and leave him to sleep, when his voice again arrested him.
“Say!”
“Well?” he asked, again coming to his side to see if he wished anything.
The man hesitated a minute while he searched his face keenly, and then burst forth: