" She held up a glass vase before him. "Mrs. Penfold and
Miss Penfold."
He shook his head feebly.
"Don't know any of them."
Nurse Aston laughed at him.
"Oh, yes, you do. Lord Tatham was at college with you. He's coming to see
you one day soon. And Miss Penfold saw you just before the accident. She
was sketching in St. John's Vale, and you helped her fish something
out of the water."
"By Jove!--so I did," he said, slowly. "Tatham?" He pondered. "Tell Lady
Tatham I'm much obliged to her."
And he went to sleep again.
The next time he woke, he saw an unfamiliar figure sitting beside him.
His hold upon himself seemed to have grown much stronger. It was evening,
and though the windows were still wide open a lamp had been lit.
"Are you Mr. Melrose?" he asked, amazed at the clearness of his own
voice.
A gray-haired man moved his chair nearer.
"That's all right. You'll soon be well now. Do you feel much better?"
"I--I feel nearly well. How long have I been here?"
"About three weeks."
"I say--that's a nuisance! I'm very sorry to put you to inconvenience."
"Wasn't your fault. It was the doctor who brought you here." The tone of
the words was round and masterful. "Are you comfortable? Have you all you
want?"
"Everything. The nurses are A1. I say--has some one written to my uncle?"
"Undershaw wrote to a Mr. George Faversham last week. He was ill with
rheumatic gout, couldn't come. Is that the uncle you mean?"
The young man nodded.
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