“Is he still able to recognise—?”
“Old chap’s first words were ‘Not a hospital; take me home.’ Constable inquired where was home, and old chap managed to give the address. Whereupon constable, after deliberation with a colleague, decided to take four-wheeler and see old chap home as desired. Thought, perhaps, he was only a bit stunned. Or, perhaps, dazed. Instead of which, coming past the Obelisk, old chap suddenly lurched forward, and—”
The small servant came out and beckoned. The voice of Rosalind called gently.
“I am here,” replies Erb.
“Want you just one moment.”
A boy doctor who stood inside the room, endeavouring to wear a look of uncountable years, nodded curtly, and went to the foot of the sofa. On the sofa lay the Professor, with a rug thrown over him, the rug close up to his chin, one hand free, and travelling restlessly over the pattern.
“That bourne,” whispered the Professor, “from which no traveller— You are a good lad, and you will look after her.”
“If she’ll let me,” says Erb. “How are you feeling, sir, by this time?”
“Look after her better than I have done. See that when you arrive at my state, laddie, you—you can glance back on your life with content.”
Erb, with a kindly touch, pushed the Professor’s hair from his eyes, and the old man looked up gratefully. Erb touched his hand, and the hand gripped his as though with desire to attach itself to something reliable.