He leaned back in the chair, his fair hair falling on the cushions, his bright face—bright with a touch of inward fever—turned upwards to the light. Gradually his eyelids closed, and he dropped into a calm sleep.
George sat watching him. Mrs. Ryle, who was still poorly, had retired to her chamber for the night, and they were alone. Very unkindly, as may be thought, George woke him soon, and told him it was time to go.
"Do not deem me inhospitable, Rupert; but it will not do for you to be locked out again to-night."
"What's the time?" asked Rupert.
"Considerably past ten."
"I was in quite a nice dream. I thought I was being carried along in a large sail belonging to a ship. The motion was pleasant and soothing. Past ten! What a bother! I shall be half dead again before I get to the Hold."
"I'll lend you my arm, Ru, to help you along."
"That's a good fellow!" exclaimed Rupert.
He got up and stretched himself, and then fell back in his chair, like a leaden weight. "I'd give five shillings to be there without the trouble of walking," quoth he.
"Rupert, you will be late."