hat ticked by my bed-head.
And with each second that passed joy blossomed more fully within my
heart. I drank the lemonade as one who drinks a glad toast. Yet I was
puzzled. "Is this--can this be a remnant of delirium?" I asked myself.
And beneath the clothes drawn up to my chin I fingered my arm above the
elbow. It was the limb of a big, strong man. Surprise, supreme
astonishment forced an exclamation from my lips. Kate got up softly and
came towards me; but I feigned to be asleep, and she returned to the
fire. Yet, peering under my lowered eyelids, I noticed an expression of
amazement upon her young and pretty face. I knew afterwards that it was
the sound of my voice--my new voice--that drew it there. After that
night my convalescence was more than a joy to me, it was a rapture,
touched by, and mingled with something that was almost awe. Is not the
earth awe-struck when she considers that Spring and Summer nestle
silently in her bosom? With each day the secret which I kept grew more
mysterious, more profound. Soon I knew it could be a secret no longer.
The fever--it must be that!--had wrought magic within my body, driving
out weakness, impotence, lassitude, developing my physical powers to an
extent that was nothing less than astounding. Lying there in my bed, I
felt the dwarf expand into the giant. Think of it! Did ever living man
know such an experience before? A bodily spring came about within me.
And I was already twenty-two years old before the fever took me. My
limbs grew large and strong; the muscles of my chest and back were
tensely strung and knit as firmly as the muscles of an athlete. I lay
still, it is true, and felt much of the peculiar vagueness that follows
fever; but I was conscious of a supine, latent energy never known
before. I was conscious that when I rose, and went out into the world
again, it would be as a man, capable of holding his own against other
strong, straight men. That was a wonder. But it was succeeded by a
greater marvel yet.

One afternoon, while I was still in bed, Doctor Wedderburn came to see
me and to sit with me. He had been away on a holiday, and,
consequently, had not visited me before, except once when I had been
delirious. The doctor was a short, spare man, with a sharply cut
brick-red face, lively and daring dark eyes, and straight hair already
on the road to grey. His self-possession bordered on self-satisfaction;
and, despite his good heart and the real and anxious sancti