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Updated: May 17, 2025
By a tremendous effort he prevented entire unconsciousness from taking place and lay there half dressed and tremulous. "Well, I am a fool! I can't help it. I can't try any more to-night, for I am as weak and sleepy if I can get up and undress it's as much as I am capable of. But Bovey's all right.
You know who she is, she is Bovey's wife, and the loveliest woman in England. Loveliest woman in England, look at that!" Clarges held up very carefully, out at arm's length, a very fine photograph of an undeniably beautiful woman. "Bovey's wife." he ejaculated again. "You never saw her, so you don't know what beauty is, do you? But here's the next best thing, her photograph, and such a photograph!
He knew that at once. The air was stifling, horrible, with an unknown quantity in it, it seemed to him. He threw open the front room door. Veuve Peter Ross was in her bed, ill, and of small-pox. He could tell her that, for certain. He rushed up-stairs and found Clarges on his bed, raving, delirious. What was it he heard? "Bovey's all right! Bovey's all right?" This was all, repeated over and over.
He could see the mighty flames of Bovey's camp-fire, a first-class fire, well planned and well plied. He could see the pale outline of the tent and the dark figure of his cousin wrapped in rugs and blankets by the side of the fire. He could see the tall pines and the little firs, the glistening line of river and the circles of gleaming white stones that marked the garden beds in front.
Now, you be good, as we say to the children, and I'll show you that again after all the others." Next he showed him in a sort of ecstasy, Bovey's children. "Rex and Florence," he said, in an awe-struck tone. Bovey laughed, so did Simpson. So would anybody have done. "What are you laughing at," said young Clarges, solemnly. "Oh, at me! that's all right, everybody laughs at me.
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