"
"What's the matter--for God's sake--Why, Griggs, man, how white you
are--O my God, my God--she is dead!" I seized him quickly in my arms or
he would have thrown himself on the ground.
"No," I said, "she is not dead. But, my dear boy, she is dying. I do not
believe she will live till this evening. Therefore get to horse and ride
there quickly, before it is too late."
Isaacs was a brave man, and of surpassing strength to endure. After the
first passionate outburst, his manner never changed as he mechanically
ordered his horse and pulled on his boots. He was pale naturally, and
great purple rings seemed to come out beneath his eyes--as if he had
received a blow--from the intensity of his suppressed emotion. Once only
he spoke before he mounted.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Jungle fever," I answered. He groaned. "Shall I go with you?" asked I,
thinking it might be as well. He shook his head, and was off in a
moment.
I turned to my rooms and threw myself on my bed. Poor fellow; was there
ever a more piteous case? Oh the cruel misery of feeling that nothing
could save her! And he--he who would give life and wealth and fortune
and power to give her back a shade of colour--as much as would tinge a
rose-leaf, even a very little rose-leaf--and could not. Poor fellow!
What would he do to-night--to-morrow.
Pages:
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315