* * * *

He awoke amid the appointments of the chamber which Julia had called
his room. A quick flood of memories, some clear and accurate, others
vague and troublesome, inundated his tired consciousness. Gradually he
became aware of a thick, muddy pain rolling in dreadful rhythmic waves
through his head. He looked toward the clock on the mantelpiece to see
if it wasn't time to get up. He met the eyes of Mrs. Elliott. He lifted
himself, falling back on the pillow. The pillow was as cold as ice. She
came over to him.

"Dear boy--you feel better?"

"Better? Better?" he echoed. "Why are you here?"

"Your head is cooler. You've been--you--my dear child, you may as well
know it--you fainted last night--yesterday. You were worn out; you
caught cold, and had--a chill. You hadn't eaten anything since--not
since--" She fondled the bed-clothes. "You'll be all right now. Your
head--struck something. The doctor said you weren't to talk--"

It hurt him to move his eyes. The sockets ached. He tried hard to
realize what she had told him, repeating snatches of it feverishly over
to himself.

"Is it dangerous?" he finally got to the point of asking.

"No; a slight--just a very slight concussion."

"Concussion?" He floundered in the ominous meaning of it until Julia
came in. Every time he spoke they begged him not to. She looked so real
to him, so natural, so tangibly alive! When she put her face down by his
he trembled, and burst out crying like a child. He was afraid she would
go away. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands about one of his. The
other hand lay bandaged on the counterpane.

The next day he was better, but he wasn't allowed to get up; and he
was secretly not sorry not to have to try. The weakness which followed
the first shock had made him submissive to the situation; he began to
be used to the fact that he was ill; even the nurse's presence he
philosophically accepted, so resigned was he to the necessity. He
asked questions concerning his pulse and temperature, wanted to know
if the bags of ice could be dispensed with soon. Julia read aloud to
him for an hour every morning.

But, having a half-attentive interest in what she read, he would look
fixedly at her and try to piece together his jumbled recollections.
Partly from lack of strength, mostly because he was loath to admit to
anybody that his brain wasn't normally clear, he let the questions which
rose to his lips pass unuttered. O