"What's the matter--what is it?" he asked, and, to his surprise and
consternation, his voice sounded hollow and weak.
She dropped on her knees beside him, her hand still on his brow.
"You've been ill," she whispered. "Don't move. I don't think you ought
to speak. Stay quite still."
"But why?" he asked, with gentle impatience. "Why am I lying here, and
what's the matter with me?"
"You've been hurt," she said, in a voice that was trembling as well as
low. "It was the lamp. Don't you remember?"
Derrick knit his brows and tried to recall the past just before he
became unconscious.
"The lamp--Jackman!" he said, with a frown that turned to a grin; for
even at that moment he appreciated the neatness of Mr. Jackman's
revenge.
"Don't think of it," Isabel said, her hand becoming caressing, as she
passed it over his forehead. "You needn't be afraid; the beast has
disappeared. Yes, he bolted, or it would have been the worse for him.
The men----" Her eyes flashed, her white, even teeth clenched together.
"It was a wonder you weren't killed; if you hadn't moved, just at the
moment you did----"
"Am I badly hurt?" asked Derrick, anxiously. "Am I going to be laid up?
Awful nuisance!"
"No," she said; "it was your collar-bone. It is all right now. It struck
your head, too. That's why you were unconscious. We brought a doctor
along with us. He'll be here presently. They wanted to take you to the
hospital, but Mr. Bloxford--all of us--couldn't leave you behind."
"I'm glad you didn't," said Derrick. "I shall be all right presently. I
feel better already. And you have been nursing me?" he asked.
A blush rose to the clear olive of her face, and she smiled, a heavenly
smile, for this was a very beautiful woman, and when a beautiful woman
smiles the gods nod approval.
"You see, I was used to it. I was a nurse once; but I couldn't stick
it--too quiet. Alice has been helping me," she added, as if forced to
make the admission.
"I say, you have been awfully good to me," said Derrick, gratefully.
"Oh, that's all right," she said. "I--I like it. Like old times, you
know. I must go and tell Mr. Bloxford; he's been like a sick monkey
fretting over its young."
She stood beside the bed, her eyes downcast, her face pale now, but an
expression on her proud and haughty lips which would have befitted a
schoolgirl.