The Sister of Mercy rubbed her eyes and started up. She touched Jack on the shoulder.
"I am going to be very ill," he said, raising a face burning with fever. "Never mind me, but stay with her."
"I understand," said the Sister, gently. "You must lie in the room beyond."
The fever seized Jack with a swiftness incredible.
"Then—swear it—by the—by the Saviour there—there on your crucifix!" he muttered.
"I swear," she answered, softly.
His mind wandered a little, but he set his teeth and rose, staggering to the table. He wrote something on a bit of paper with shaking fingers.
"Send for them," he said. "You can telegraph now. They are in Brussels—my sister—my family—"
Then, blinded by the raging fever, he made his way uncertainly to the bed, groped for Lorraine's hand, pressed it, and lay down at her feet.
"Call the surgeon!" he gasped.