He half raised his lids at that, and then feebly pushed a leaden hand and arm through mine. There was a pause. He seemed unable to make a farther movement, and sat, his head sunk into his chest, his arm hanging through mine.
"Come, Howard, make an effort," I said, after a minute, and he staggered uncertainly to his feet.
Getting him into the next room and into bed was a lengthy and difficult matter, but at last, after protracted pauses, it was effected, and he fell back upon the pillows—face and lips one tint with the linen. I spoke to him, but I got no articulate answer, only groans in response.
"I am going to fetch you some coffee," I said, leaning over him.
His eyes opened wide, and fixed upon me with a sort of helpless terror.
"No, no! don't go!—stay!" he whispered, clutching my wrist with his damp, shaking fingers. "Stay—a minute."
"But you want something to pull you round. I shan't be two seconds," I answered, trying to unclasp his clinging fingers.
"Never mind! Oh, Vic, for God's sake stay."
There was an abject appeal in the bloodshot eyes, a desperate tenacity in his clutch. He looked at me as if he dared look nowhere else. Some horror seemed pressing upon his confused and weakened brain, and I thought I could soothe him best by staying.
"Very well—there, I'm not going," I said, reassuringly.