When his eyes opened, and he felt his neck bare, he hurriedly put
up his hand and drew the collar close, and at the same time sent a
startled and inquiring look at me. After a few moments I helped him to
his feet, and, thanking me more with a look than with words, he turned
towards the door again.
"Wait," I said, "until I give you some medicine, and then you shall take
my arm to your cabin." With a motion of the hand, signifying the
uselessness of remedies, he sat down again. As I handed him the phial, I
continued: "I know that it is none of my business, but you are suffering.
To help your body, your mind should be helped also. Can't you tell me
your trouble? Perhaps I should be able to serve you. I would if I could."
It may be that I spoke with a little feeling and an apparent honesty; for
his eyes searched mine in a kind of earnest bewilderment, as if this
could not be true--as if, indeed, life had gone so hard with him that he
had forgotten the way of kindness. Then he stretched out his hand and
said brokenly: "I am grateful, believe me. I cannot tell you just now,
but I will soon, perhaps.
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