Page:The Black Moth.pdf/138



came sighing back to life. He opened his eyes wearily, and turned his head. A faint feeling of surprise stole over him. He was in a room he had never been in before, and by the window, busy with some needlework, sat a little old lady who was somehow vaguely familiar.

“Who—are—you?” he asked, and was annoyed to find his voice so weak.

The little lady jumped, and came across to him.

“Praise be to God!” she ejaculated. “Likewise, bless the boy! The fever is passed.” She laid a thin hand on his brow, and smiled down into his wondering eyes.

“As cool as a cucumber, dear boy. What a mercy!”

It was a long time since anyone had called Jack dear, or boy. He returned the smile feebly and closed his eyes.

“I do not understand-anything,” he murmured drowsily.

“Never trouble your head then. Just go to sleep.”

He considered this gravely for a moment. It seemed sensible enough, and he was so very, very tired. He shut his eyes with a little sigh.

When he awoke again it was morning of the next day, and the sun streamed in the window, making him blink.

Someone rustled forward, and he saw it was the lady who had called him dear and bidden him go to sleep.