And while the long morning dragged itself away in Economy listening to
a tale of shame, over on the bright Jersey coast the waves washed
lazily on a silver strand reflecting the blueness of the September sky,
and soft breezes hovered around the classic little hospital building
that stood in a grove of imported palms, and lifted its white columns
picturesquely like some old Greek temple.
There was nothing in the life he was living now to remind Billy of
either hell or Sabbath Valley, yet for long days and weeks he had
struggled through flames in a deep dark pit lighted only by lurid glare
and his soul had well nigh gone out under the torture. Once the doctors
and nurses had stood around and waited for his last breath. This was a
marked case. The Shaftons were deeply interested in it. The boy had
mysteriously brought back all their valuable papers and jewels that had
been stolen from them, and they were anxious to put him on his feet
again. It went sadly against the comfortable self-complacent grain of a
Shafton to feel himself under such mortal obligation to any one.
But Billy was tougher than anyone knew, and one night after he had made
the usual climb through the hot coals on his bare knees to the top of
the pit, and come to the place where he always fell back, he held on a
little tighter and set his teeth a little harder, and suddenly, with a
long hard pull that took every atom of strength in his wasted young
body, he went over the top. Over the top and out into the clean open
country where he could feel the sea breeze on his hot forehead and know
that it was good. He was out of hell and he was cooling off. The first
step in the awful fight that began that night in the old haunted house
on the mountain had been won.
For three days he lay thus, cooling off and resting. He was fed and
cared for but he took no cognizance of it except to smile weakly.
Swallowing things was like breathing. You had to do it and you didn't
think about it. The fourth day he began to know the nurses apart, and
to realize he was feeling better. As yet the past lay like a blurr of
pain on his mind, and he hadn't a care about anything save just to lie
and know that it was good to smell the salt, and see the shimmer of
blue from the window. At times when he slept the sound of bells in old
hymns came to him like a dream and he smiled. But on the fifth morning
he lifted his light head uncertainly and looked out of the window.