Cheerfully and firmly the answer came back in good Parisian, "I will not fail you. I have no fear now, and the life of the ice is nothing new to me. When the winds have done their work, and we no longer look for the loom of the cliffs, or the hazy purple of the distant forests, I will take my turn in your place." And grasping La Salle's hand, Orloff stepped into the chamber.
"How you do, George? Here's the doctor again," and La Salle, with no little anxiety, approached his patient.
"I have no chills now, but my throat is still quite sore, and I have some fever, I think."
La Salle laid his hand on the boy's forehead. It was parched with fever, but a close search failed to discover any signs of dangerous throat symptoms. He looked at his watch.
"It is now ten o'clock. You may take another dose of the nitre, and gargle your throat well with a little of it. Are you warm enough?"
"Yes, thank you. I guess I can sleep now, and you had better go to bed too. Good night!"
"Good night, George. You'll be better to-morrow."
And placing a few billets in the cylinder, La Salle rolled himself up in his heavy coat, drew off his long moccason boots, and placing his stockinged feet where the heat of the fire would dry the insensible perspiration they had gathered during the day, he prepared for a short nap.
"Regnie, keep up the fire for a couple of hours, and then call me, for it grows cold, and we must not let George get chilled again, on any account."
About one, La Salle awoke to find Regnie still awake, and keeping up a good fire, although he used the wood but sparingly. The cold had evidently increased, and La Salle drew on his boots, which had improved much in drying. As Regnar turned to his berth, he said,—