Casting a glance at the two prostrate figures, and assuring himself that they still lived, he ran out of the cave; the knowledge that they were saved, and the fresh air, had given him new strength. On he sped, and, after a run of half a mile, he dashed, breathless and almost speechless, into the midst of their own tribe.
"Water!" he panted.
They offered him a pitcher, and he drank till he could hold no more. Then, in a few words, he explained what had occurred, and where St. Just and Halima would be found. The cave was known to many of the tribe, and a rescue party was at once made up.
Halima was some time recovering, but St. Just, except for the cuts and bruises he had received, was soon himself again.
He told Mahmoud, they would never have been saved, but for his assistance, and that he should remember him with gratitude and affection to his dying day. And he did. Between the master and the servant the tie was for the future more like that between two brothers. When they were alone, Mahmoud handed him the silver box, which he had preserved through all their danger.
The boxes that contained the gold were also safe, and had been transported to the camp before St. Just's return.
CHAPTER XXII.
The effects of the terrible experience she had undergone were very serious to Halima. She had been carried from the cave to the encampment on a litter, for she had not been able to stand, still less to ride or walk. She lay on a couch and moaned, acutely sensible to pain, yet seemingly unconscious, so great was her prostration. She felt bruised and sore all over, every nerve and muscle overstrained; her body was one huge ache, her joints burned like fire, and she could scarcely have suffered more had she been stretched out on the rack.
Thus she passed the weary night, vainly longing, oh! so earnestly, for the sleep that would have been everything to her, but that her sufferings would not permit; for, with the cessation of exercise, her joints stiffened and the pain increased. In the morning she was in a high fever, and delirious. It was nature's retaliation for the affront that had been put upon her; for no one may insult her with impunity, and she rebels when too much is demanded of her, as when nerves and thews are overstrained and the brain is overwrought.
St. Just, the old nurse and Ben Kerriman, the doctor, stood gravely watching the unconscious girl, who lay staring at them with wide open eyes, eyes in which there was no trace of recognition; and their heart sank within them. The old doctor's knowledge of the healing art was superficial, and he was acquainted only with the simple herbal remedies. These he administered, but with little faith in their efficiency; such hope as he had, lay in the soundness and natural vigor of her constitution, aided by her youth. He gazed upon her sorrowfully, and shook his head doubtfully—almost despairingly. For all that, he was unremitting in his care, and in this he was ably seconded by the old nurse and St. Just. He was resolved that nature should have every chance. For a week she hovered between life and death, on more than one occasion the vital spark flickering so feebly that every moment they thought it would die out. In a week the critical moment that would decide her fate arrived. It passed and she was saved; her strong constitution had gained the mastery of the fever; the temperature of her blood was lowered; the florid color faded from her face; the pulse, that had been rapid and irregular, became calm and measured; a slight moisture broke out upon the hot, parched skin, and consciousness returned. She looked up in the faces of the watchers with a feeble smile, and her lips moved slightly, but no sound escaped them. Then she closed her eyes and dropped off into a calm, refreshing sleep, that lasted many hours.