We reached a village one
evening; she had been in violent convulsions successively - it was all
but over. I laid her down on her litter within a hut; covered her with a
Scotch plaid; and I fell upon my mat insensible, worn out with sorrow
and fatigue. My men put a new handle to the pickaxe that evening, and
sought for a dry spot to dig her grave!
CHAPTER XIL
RECOVERED.
The sun had risen when I woke. I had slept, and, horrified as the idea
flashed upon me that she must be dead, and that I had not been with her,
I started up. She lay upon her bed, pale as marble, and with that calm
serenity that the features assume when the cares of life no longer act
upon the mind, and the body rests in death. The dreadful thought bowed
me down; but as I gazed upon her in fear, her chest gently heaved, not
with the convulsive throbs of fever, but naturally. She was asleep; and
when at a sudden noise she opened her eyes, they were calm and clear.
She was saved! When not a ray of hope remained, God alone knows what
helped us. The gratitude of that moment I will not attempt to describe.
Fortunately there were many fowls in this village; we found several
nests of fresh eggs in the straw which littered the hut; these were most
acceptable after our hard fare, and produced a good supply of soup.
