"All right," Allison returned, but he did not sleep, even after certain
low sounds usually associated with comfortable slumber came from the
doctor's room. He lay there, waiting happily, while from far, mysterious
sources, life streamed into him, as the sap rises into the trees at the
call of Spring. Across the despairing darkness, a signal had been
flashed to him, and he was answering it, in every fibre of body and
soul.






XX

RISEN FROM THE DEAD

COLONEL KENT, in a distant structure which, by courtesy, was called "the
hotel," had pushed away his breakfast untasted, save for a small portion
of the nondescript fluid the frowsy waitress called "coffee." He had
been delayed, missed his train at the junction point, and, fretting with
impatience, had been obliged to pass the night there.

He had wired to Madame Francesca the night before, but, as yet, had
received no answer. He had personally consulted every surgeon of
prominence in the surrounding country, and all who would not say flatly,
without further information than he could give them, that there was no
chance, had been asked to go and see for themselves.