Part 13 (2/2)

He wanted to--to thank her for what she had done, and ask just how she had done it. There were all sorts of details--in short, it was important that he should see her at once. Asleep? Why--it seemed unreasonable that she should be asleep at this hour of the morning. Was she not well?

”She--she watched by you most of the night!” Miss Vesta confessed.

”Your head--she was afraid of congestion, and wanted the cloths changed frequently. She would not let me sit up, Geoffrey, though I begged her to let me do so. She will come as soon as she wakes, I am sure.”

”I told you I was a cuttlefis.h.!.+” said Geoffrey. ”Now you see! I--I believe I am getting sleepy again, Miss Vesta. What is that pretty thing you have around your neck? Did she sit in that chair? What a fool a man is when he is asleep!”

Seeing his eyelids droop, Miss Vesta moved softly away; was called back at the door, and found him looking injured. ”You haven't tucked me up!”

he said.

Miss Vesta tucked him up with delicate precision, and drew the snowy counterpane into absolute smoothness. ”There!” she said, her gentle eyes beaming with maternal pleasure. ”Is there anything else, dear doctor--I mean dear Geoffrey?”

”No, nothing--unless--I don't suppose angels ever kiss people, do they?”

Very pink indeed, even to her pretty little ears, Miss Vesta stooped and deposited a very small and very timid kiss on his forehead; then slipped away like a little shocked ghost, wondering what Sister Phoebe would say.

CHAPTER XII.

CONVALESCENCE

”Where did you get your splints?” asked Geoffrey. ”Was this thing all arranged beforehand? you confess to the bandages in your trunk.”

Vesta laughed. ”Your poor cigars! I tumbled them out of their box with very little ceremony. See them, scattered all over the table! I must put them tidy.”

She moved to the table, and began piling the cigars in a hollow square.

”A cigar-box makes excellent splints,” she said; ”did you ever try it?”

But Geoffrey was thinking what a singular amount of light a white dress seemed to bring into a room, and did not immediately reply.

When he did speak, he said, ”You watched me--I kept you up all night. I ought to be shot.”

”That would be twice as troublesome,” said Vesta, gravely; ”I can set an arm, but I don't know anything about wounds, except theoretically.

Perhaps you would'nt like theoretic treatment.”

”Perhaps not. Was there--it seems a perfectly absurd question to ask, but--well, was any one playing the 'cello here last night? why do you laugh?”

”Only because you seem to have the 'cello so on your mind. You said such funny things last night, while you were light-headed, you know.”

Geoffrey became conscious of the roots of his hair. ”What did I say?”

he asked.

”You seemed to think that some one was playing the 'cello; or rather, you fancied there was a 'cello in the room, and it seemed to be endowed with life. You said, 'I didn't know that 'cellos had hands!' and then you asked if it spoke Spanish. I couldn't help laughing a little at that, and you were quite short with me, and told me I that didn't know phlox from flaxseed. It was very curious!”

”Must have been!” said Geoffrey, dryly. ”I'm only thankful--was that the worst thing I said?”

”Wasn't that bad enough? yes, that was the very worst. I am going out now, Doctor Strong. Is there anything I can do for you?”

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