For eight terrible days the wounded man burned with fever and raved with frenzy. For eight days, within his broken and agonized frame, an almost equal struggle between the forces of life and death went on. But, by the aid of his strong constitution and of his skilful surgeon, life at length prevailed over death.
It was about the dawn of the critical ninth day, that the fever finally left him.
The surgeon, who, on that particular night, had watched by his bed, was the first to perceive the signs of reviving life, in the moisture of the sleeper’s hands and the moderated pulsations at his wrists.
“The imminent danger is over now. He will live and recover,—unless he should have a relapse, which we must try to prevent,” said Doctor Dietz to Simms, the valet, who had shared his watch.
Simms, who, for the last nine days, had never once been in bed, but had snatched his sleep when, where, and how he could,—sitting, standing, and even walking—yawned frightfully, and said he was glad to hear it, and asked if he might now lie down.
The surgeon told him that he might not; that yet, for a few hours, he must watch beside his master; afterwards, when his master should awake, he (the man) should be relieved.
And, so saying, the surgeon went away, to get some sleep for himself.
And Simms lay back in the best easy-chair, just vacated by Doctor Dietz, and stretched his feet out on the best footstool, and closed his eyes in slumber.
And the only watcher beside the wounded man was the All-seeing Eye.
But all the danger was over,—the fever was cooled, the frenzy calmed, and the patient slept on,—all the more quietly, perhaps, because his attendant slept also and the room was so still.