It gradually dawned upon me what the nature of her malady was, and the more particularly as I was informed by my host that they had been married but a very few months.
"I have no medicine for your complaint," I remarked.
"No medicine!" said the Persian indignantly. "Mohammed has shown me the bottles and the little boxes. Besides that, you have the wet paper!"
"A mustard plaster would be useless."
"But she must have something!" said the husband.
Now, my medicine-chest was very limited in its contents. It merely contained cholera medicine, pills, and a few ounces of quinine, besides the prepared mustard plasters.
A pill, in the lady's condition, would not have been safe: I could not have answered for the consequences. Cholera mixture might have been equally disastrous in its effects. Quinine, I thought, could not do any harm; it is exceedingly nasty, an infinitesimally small dose leaves a very disagreeable taste in the mouth.
"You shall have some medicine," I observed. "Please God it will do you good."
"Inshallah! Inshallah!" replied my host devoutly; and accompanying me to the room prepared for the Usebashe and myself, I gave him three grains of quinine, to be taken in three doses, one grain in each dose.
"Will it do her much good?" inquired the Persian.