He was still grumbling when our host re-entered with something in a cup which he gave me a little at a time, so that I should not have to move, and soon after he had left me my eyelids grew heavy, and I fell into a deep sleep, which lasted till it was growing dark, and I could only just make out Esau’s head as he sat watching by my bed.
Chapter Thirty Seven.
In the Spring.
Ask anybody what is the most delicious thing in life, and see what he or she will say. I do not believe any one will tell you what I do now. It is to have been dangerously ill, to be brought down very weak, to be getting better, and then to be carried or led out to sit in the sunshine of some bright genial morning.
Ah! that long breath of sweet life-inspiring air—those trees—those flowers—the blue sky—the bark of that dog—those kindly words of inquiry—that all-round feeling of joy and delight at being out there once more; the sensation which will bring the weak tears in your eyes for the simple reason that you are so happy. Yes, it is a pleasant thing to have been very ill, if only for the sake of the thankful sensation that comes the first time you go out once more in the bright sunshine.
How delightful it was, and what a long weary dream of misery I had passed through! I hardly knew even then how bad I had been. When I spoke to Esau he used to screw his face up full of wrinkles, and shake his head, while Mr Raydon was as reticent.
“Never mind that,” he would say; “you are better now.”
I learned later though, that for several months he had been in great doubt of my recovery. My wound would not heal, consequent upon a ragged fragment of the rifle-bullet remaining beneath a bone, and when at last it did come away, I was weak in the extreme, and, as Esau said, “You couldn’t get a doctor when you liked out there.”