Merton, who was watching her face, turned to St John and gripped his arm.
"Oh, St John, this is too horrible. If she dies what shall I do? Why did I leave Sybil with her?" His face was working convulsively. St John drew him away.
The sun was getting quite hot, in that instant way it has in Africa; as soon as its rays are well over the horizon they begin to burn.
The doctor wanted to get her into the shelter of the tent. As he touched her to raise her she groaned.
"Let Everest lift me," she murmured, and the doctor drew back.
"She can stand it better from you," he said to Everest, and the latter slipped his arm very gently under her and raised her. It was agony to be touched, frightful pain to be moved, but she was silent in his arms as he lifted her and carried her into their tent.
He laid her on the bed, on her unwounded side, and put a pillow to support the broken, useless arm, and then bent and kissed her as, in all their days of passion, he had not done yet. She saw in the anguish on his face at that moment his suffering, that he showed in no other way.
"Do not grieve so," she whispered. "I am so strong. I shall recover all right. Tell me, did you find any lion?"
He shook his head. "No, not where we went. That's why we came back. They were on this side."