"What is the matter?" she asked. "How are you?" For even at that distance—perhaps, some fifty paces—she could see that he looked wretchedly worn and wan.
"Oh, I'm doing very well," he replied. "How are you? You must not come this way! Turn back!"
She began to rein her horse around and then, on a sudden, as his arm fell to his side, and, stepping a little out of the path, he leant against a tree, the whole situation struck her. Wheeling her horse back, she rode straight up to him though he stiffened up and waved her back.
"You are ill," she said.
"Oh, no. I am not ill, I am only a bit tired; that is all. You must not come this way—go back!"
"But why?" she persisted, sitting now close above him.
"Because—because—there is sickness here. A family there is down." He nodded back toward the curve around which he had just come. "The Banyan family are all ill, and I am just going for help."
"I will go—I, at least, can do that. What help? What do you want?"
She had tightened the rein on her horse and turned his head back.
"Everything. The mother and three children are all down; the father died a few days ago. Send the doctor and anything that you can find—food—clothing—medicine—some one to nurse them—if you can find her. It is the only chance."