anxious. My eyes opened; I turned to rise; Dr. Khayme entered; I rose.

"You do not sleep readily?" he asked.

"I cannot sleep at all," I said; "besides I have been so overwhelmed by
this great calamity that I had not thought of telegraphing to my father.
Can you get a messenger here?"

"Oh, my boy, I have already provided for your father's knowing that you
are safe."

"You?"

"Yes, certainly. He knows already that you are unhurt; go to sleep; by
the time you awake I promise you a telegram from your father."

"Doctor, you are an angel; but I don't believe that I can sleep."

"Let me feel your pulse."

Dr. Khayme placed his fingers on my wrist; I was sitting on the side of
the bed.

"Lie down," said he. Then, still with his fingers on my pulse, he said
softly, "Poor boy! you have endured too much; no wonder that you are
wrought up."

He laid his other hand on my head; his fingers strayed through my hair.