Then the thought of Fleda Druse shot into Rockwell's mind, and it harassed him during the hours Ingolby slept, and after the giant Gipsy had taken his departure just before the dawn.
"I'm afraid it will mean more there than anywhere else," he said sadly to himself.

"There was evidently something between those two; and she isn't the kind to take it philosophically.

Poor girl! Poor girl! It's a bitter dose, if there was anything in it," he added.
He watched beside the sick-bed till the dawn stared in and his patient stirred and waked, then he took Ingolby's hand, grown a little cooler, in both his own.

"How are you feeling, old man ?" he asked cheerfully.
"You've had a good sleep-nearly three and a half hours.

Is the pain in the head less ?" "Better, Sawbones, better," Ingolby replied cheerfully.