He turned on his heel, and I stood listening to the tramp of his feet till he turned in to his own quarters, while I sat down to think, after telling the servants to go to bed.
It was a miserable night for me. The window was open, and the hot wind came in, making me feel so low and depressed, that life was almost unbearable. There was the ping, ping, ping, of the mosquitoes, and the piteous wailing shriek of the jackals as they hunted in a pack, and there, too, was the monotonous tramp of the sentry, hour after hour.
“Asleep, Vincent?”
I started from a nap to see the open window a little darker.
“No. I have been dozing. How is he?”
“I have just come from the hospital. There is no concealing the fact, my lad, that he is very bad; but let us hope it will not come to the worst. Good night.”
“Good night,” I said, as he walked away; “however can it be a good night for me again?”
Then, after a weary time, I rose, and began to walk up and down my quarters with the question always before me—
“Suppose that man dies, what will you do?”
Very little sleep came to me that night, and at dawn I sent a man for news, and my servant came back looking horrified.