“Your Excellency, I can but confirm the diagnosis and prediction of Dr. Saklava; your friend cannot be saved. He lives but under the influence of the narcotic that the doctor gave him, the only drug we know which will hold life until the next fit of this awful fever consumes it finally. Dr. Saklava has more experience in enteric fevers than anyone in this province; he is both competent and skillful in the knowledge and treatment of all native diseases. You could not have had a better physician. Your friend will pass away with the next attack. He will regain consciousness and there can be no harm in speaking to him. But after his fever returns he will be delirious—and in his weakened state neither drug nor cold bath nor nurse can avail. Do you wish me to watch with you beside your young friend, Count Rondell?”
“No, Major, I think I will remain alone with him and save him the shock of seeing too many strange faces upon his awakening. He doesn’t know of my presence, if you remember. Will you gentlemen kindly remain within hearing?”
“Certainly, my lord; when you want us, pray call.”
The Parsee doctor deposited a cup and bottle upon the bench, and after giving some whispered instructions to the man who had been addressed as “Count,” he followed the surgeon out of the dwelling. The tall man resumed his post of observation.
The oppressive quiet of the chamber was broken after a long interval by a sigh followed by the sound of a slight cough. Count Rondell leaned forward eagerly. The invalid had moved, an arm had been thrown up and the hand was feeling for the throat. Gradually the eyes opened and the sick man gazed stupidly upward at the dingy mud-plastered bamboo lace work of the ceiling, and then slowly and almost devoid of intelligence swept the foreground and rested curiously upon the watcher. Count Rondell half rose as he intently observed the change, and wondered vaguely whether he should speak or await the actions of the sufferer.
The void expression of the eyes, now free of fever, slowly yielded to one of recognition and then of shame. A heightened color mantled the brow of the sick youth and an elusive twitch upon the poor lips as they spoke: “How are you, Count? So you have caught me at last?”
The old man flushed, sank to his knee and with both arms extended, leaned over the invalid.
“God greet you, Your Highness! I am more than happy to have found you!”
His voice broke and he grasped the nerveless hands of the youth before him with deep emotion, whispering huskily, “My Prince—my boy!”
Tears gathered into the now softened eyes of the sick youth. The deep feeling shown by the man kneeling at his pallet touched him keenly.