Hortense stooped to stanch the wound, but the doctor motioned her off with a fierce impatience, and bade the negress lead her away. Then he lay with closed eyes, hands clutched to the pelts, and shuddering breath.
The blackamoor had rushed to the inner cave for liquor, when M. Picot opened his eyes with a strange far look fastened upon me.
"Swear it," he commanded.
And I thought his mind wandering.
He groaned heavily. "Don't you understand? It's Hortense. Swear you'll restore her—" and his breath came with a hard metallic rattle that warned the end.
"Doctor Picot," said I, "if you have anything to say, say it quickly and make your peace with God!"
"Swear you'll take her back to her people and treat her as a sister," he cried.
"I swear before God that I shall take Hortense back to her people, and that I shall treat her like a sister," I repeated, raising my right hand.
That seemed to quiet him. He closed his eyes.
"Sir," said I, "have you nothing more to say? Who are her people?"