I
am glad to find you again, even if the Johannesburg hospital isn't a
good place for a man. But you mustn't talk now. Later, we can make
up for lost time."
Impetuously his fingers shut on a fold of her apron. Then his native
instincts and his years of training asserted themselves, and he let
go once more. Nevertheless, his eyes were appealing.
"Don't go."
"But I must," she answered, her hands busy with her cap.
Her tone showed that, like himself, she too had learned the meaning
of an order. He yielded to its quiet firmness.
"If you must. But, before you go, tell me this: have I been off my
head?"
She nodded in assent.
He frowned.
"Sorry," he said briefly. "Please answer me honestly. Have I mumbled
things and made a blasted fool of myself?"
It was still two days before he was allowed to talk to his own
satisfaction. Then, one afternoon in her rest hour, Alice Mellen let
him have his way and, seated by his cot, she answered tersely to a
raking fire of terse questions.
"How long have I been here?"
"Just a week."
"How did I get here?"
"Hospital train from Krugersdorp."
"What for?"
"You had a touch of fever.
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