"Lie back," he said, "or I will go away and tell you nothing."
He sat down by the bedside, and with a soft sponge touched the convalescent's brow. As he did so he spoke in a low and meditative tone as though he had been talking to himself.
"There was once a foolish young man who thought that he could take twenty shillings out of a purse into which he had only put half a sovereign. He fell down one day on the street. A woman carried him in and nursed him through a fortnight's delirium. A woman caught him as he ran, with only a blanket about him, to drown himself in the Black Pool of Rescobie Water. Night and day she watched him, sleepless, without weariness, without murmuring——"
"And this woman—who saved my life—what was—her name?"
Gibby's voice was very hoarse.
"Jemima Girnigo!" said the doctor, sinking his voice also to a whisper.
"Where is she—I want to see her—I want to thank her?" cried Gibby. He was actually upon his elbow now.
Dr. Dune forced him gently back upon the pillows.
"Yes, yes," he said soothingly, "so you shall—if all tales be true; but for that you must wait."
"Why—why?" cried impatient Gibby. "Why cannot I see her now? She has done more for me than ever I deserved——"