He closed his eyes, and a quarter of an hour passed before they opened again.
"W—w—why——?" he stammered suddenly.
"Don't—try—to—talk," I said again.
"But w—why did he do that?" Beresford persisted with slow obstinacy. "Is he m—m—mad?"
George, Bertrand and I stared at him and then at one another.
"Don't try to talk yet," was all that I could find to say.
4
Bertrand allowed himself to be sent to bed at midnight, but George and I took it in turns to watch by Beresford's side. We had a doctor in, but the danger was past before he arrived, and his only orders were that we must report any change. Until dawn we tried sleeping for an hour and watching for an hour, but, as an opal light came to warm the rafters on the west side of the room, George sacrificed his turn to sleep and joined me on the sofa.
We looked at each other for some moments without speaking, both equally tired, dishevelled, unshaven and perplexed.
"Well?" I said at length.