"Perhaps he would if we asked him," added the other.
"Silence!" said Mohammed. "The doctor is saying something."
The face of the medical gentleman became a little grave after he had sounded me. This gave great satisfaction to the audience.
"See how solemn he looks!" remarked one of the bystanders; "the Effendi is going to die."
"What is the matter with me?" I inquired.
"Rheumatic fever; and your heart is out of order," said the doctor. "You must lie quiet for several days, and I will send you some medicine. My battalion probably marches to-morrow," he continued, "and so I fear I cannot come here again."
Pocketing his fee, the medical gentleman mounted his horse, and rode off with the Zaptieh.
I had eaten nothing for two days, and my mouth was parched. Mohammed, seeing this, brought me some pressed fruit—a sort of wild cranberry, which the natives dry, and then, if any one has a fever, they soak the fruit in water and give it him to drink. The pressed berries are very nasty to look at. They much resemble tezek. For a moment I thought that Mohammed was giving me a piece of that fuel by way of a febrifuge. On tasting the beverage I found that the flavour was very agreeable. It was acid, and, in Mohammed's opinion, was a most valuable remedy for fever.
The day wore on. In the evening the cows inside my bedroom were joined by three buffaloes.
The air in the room became fouler and more dense. It was snowing outside, and the proprietor had covered the hole, which took the place of a chimney, with a large stone. I lay awake for the greater part of the night, every now and then drinking copious draughts of the pressed fruit dissolved in water. Nature at last succumbed. I had not slept for several nights. The figures of the cows and buffaloes became smaller: they gradually disappeared. The light given out by a piece of cotton steeped in some melted fat, and placed in an iron tripod, became more flickering: the sounds of my followers' snoring seemed to fade away. I shut my eyes and fell asleep.