“Enola lives, but her reason is dead.” His face turned ashen and he jumped on to the zebra held for him by an attendant, and dashed off madly down the avenue. The populace watched his retreating figure in still greater wonderment, and the attendants who followed him were soon left far in the rear, as the zebra which he rode was fleeter than any other in the land. On the King rode, each moment urging the zebra to greater efforts, each moment shortening the distance between Enola and himself. The avenue had been almost cleared of fallen trees by the large body of men who had immediately gone to work after the storm, and Onrai hardly met with any obstructions in his mad rush. It was growing dark now and Onrai had ridden nearly fifty miles that day, but he showed no fatigue as he bent well over the zebra’s shoulders and urged it on. He had but one thought, an excruciating one: “Enola was mad.” The agony of that thought. She would no longer look at him with those beautiful eyes or speak to him in those charming accents, or smile on him with those lips which seemed only made to kiss. Mad, mad, mad; the word rang in his ears, the zebra’s hoofs seemed to pound it out of the flinty pavement, the birds in the air were screeching it; everything seemed to be telling him the fearful story. On, on he rushed with unabated speed, the zebra reeking with sweat and panting as if it would drop each moment, its eyes bulged and glaring, until, pulling up in front of the villa, and Onrai jumping from its back, the beast falls dead.
CHAPTER XIX.
ONRAI CONFESSES HIS LOVE.
Yes, it was only too true. The sufferings of that mad ride before the storm and the long exposure had unbalanced Enola’s reason. As Mr. Bruce entered the apartment after visiting Gip he found two women attendants struggling with her trying to prevent her leaving the couch, while Mrs. Graham was standing near trying to reason with her. But there was no longer any reason in Enola. She had awakened to oblivion, her mind groveling in darkness.
Mr. Bruce walked up, and looking at Enola closely, saw that she was in a high fever; feeling her pulse he knew that she was in a very dangerous condition. His troubled look told the story to Mrs. Graham and Nellie as they stood watching him anxiously. He sent for the small medicine chest which they had brought with them from the States, and which they had thought to place with the equipments when starting on this excursion. From this he took medicines that would allay the fever, first giving Enola a quieting powder. This had to be forced down her throat as she closed her teeth tightly and refused to take anything. It soon had its effect and as her muscles relaxed and bruised limbs became quiet, Mr. Bruce could better diagnose the disease.
After a careful examination he came to the conclusion that she was suffering more from a nervous fever than anything else, caused by the fearful suspense, suffering and exposure of the night before.
“Is there any hope for her?” asked Harry, who had come into the apartment.
“I cannot say,” said Mr. Bruce, “but we will hope until the disease has run its course and the change comes.”
“But of her reason,” questioned Harry. “If she lives, will her mind always be clouded?” and Harry’s look of agony was fearful.
“That I cannot say, for unfortunately, I am not an expert in mind diseases,” answered Mr. Bruce. “It may be though only the ravings of a fever-racked brain, and when this has passed she may regain her reason.”
“God grant that this may be true,” said Harry.