Twice over during the night a slight rustling of a curtain had startled the watchers, and thoughts of treachery had arisen; but in each case the rustling was succeeded by a weary sigh, and there was silence once more.
The daylight which turned the lamp-rays pale was stealing in at the narrow window, when there was a louder rustle of the curtain, and the Emir entered, to find the Hakim bending over his friend, with Frank kneeling a short distance away.
The chief glanced round for the interpreter, and then went to the door leading into the next room, to draw back directly, for the Sheikh and Landon were lying upon divans, asleep.
The Emir nodded, and went straight to the Hakim, pointing down at the patient, questioning him with his eyes.
“Yes,” said the doctor, bowing his head; “he lives still, but I am afraid.”
The Emir seemed to grasp his meaning, and to enforce it Morris took the chiefs hand and separating his fingers, placed two upon the wounded man’s pulse.
There was a faint beating going on, and without another sign the Emir crossed to the curtain and passed out.
The sun rose soon after, and filled the gloomy room with cheery light; but the hard, drawn countenance of the wounded man suggested that dissolution could not be far distant; and when a few minutes later the professor and the Sheikh came in, refreshed by a couple of hours’ rest, the doctor, spoke in a low voice—
“Help me,” he said; “I must make another examination at all risks;” and busy minutes followed, during which the probe was used, and used in vain.
“He will sink in a few hours in spite of all I can do,” said the doctor. “If I could trace that bullet there might be a chance, and I will try; but everything is against him here.”