Sons of fire, Vol. III.Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
General
Sons of fire, Vol. III.
Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
English fiction -- 19th century
That was the last night these three travellers ever sat together over
their cards and pipes, ever laughed and talked together with hearts at
ease. They were to resume their journey next morning; but when all was
ready for the start, Allan discovered that Cecil Patrington was too ill
to walk.
"I've had a bad night," he confessed; "the kind of night that lets
one know one has a head belonging to one. But the men can carry me in
a litter. I shall be all right to-morrow. I'd much rather we jogged
along. This is a vile, feverish hole."
There was no question of jogging along for this hardy traveller. The
oppressive drowsiness, which is sometimes the first stage of malarial
fever, held him like a spell. He looked at his companions dimly, with
eyes that sparkled and yet were cloudy with involuntary tears. He could
hardly see their anxious faces.
"I'm afraid I'm in for it," he faltered. "I thought I was fever-proof."
He sank upon the narrow camp-bed in a shivering fit, and Geoffrey
and Allan spread their blankets over him. They heaped every woollen
covering they possessed over those shaking limbs, but could not quiet
the ague fit or bring warmth to the icecold form.
Dreary days, dreadful nights, followed the sad waking of that sultry
morning. The two young men nursed their guide and captain with
unceasing watchfulness and devotion. Geoffrey developed a feminine
tenderness and carefulness which was touching in so wild and fitful a
nature. But they could do so little! And he whom they watched and cared
for knew not, or only knew in rare brief intervals, of their loving
care.
They tried to sustain each other's courage. They told each other that
malarial fever was only a phase of African travel; an unpleasant phase,
but not to be avoided. They knew all about the fever from bitter
experience; and here was Geoffrey but just recovered, and doubtless
Patrington would mend in a day or two, as he had mended.
"I don't suppose he's any worse than I was," said Geoffrey.
Allan shook his head sadly.
"I don't know that he's worse, but the symptoms seem different somehow.
He doesn't answer to the medicines as you did."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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