"Yes, dearest; taste it,"—and he placed the fruit, which he had divested of its rind, to her lips.
The act seemed to restore her wandering mind to its equilibrium, and she painfully lifted herself on the pallet of straw, and took the fruit in her hand. She gazed upon it with a kind of silent rapture, while a faint smile rested upon her pallid lips.
"We are indeed safe, if you have found food,"—and she tasted the fig.
"Eat it all, dear; here are plenty more, and melons, too."
"Let me see you eat, Francois; it will do me more good than to eat myself. You have labored hard. Can we get out of this place? Are not these Mr. Dumont's friends? Have they come to fill up the pit you have dug?"
"No, dearest, they are our friends," said Dalhousie, pained by the wandering, wild state of her mind, and fearful that it might end in insanity. "We will leave this place as soon as you have eaten some of these figs and melons. I am almost restored by the joy of this moment, dearest; and you must strive to be of good cheer."
Dalhousie and his wife ate freely of the fruit, while Uncle Nathan and Pat gazed in silence upon the scene. But Delia was not so easily restored. Her mental and physical sufferings appeared to have given her constitution a shock from which it would take time to recover.
A conference took place between the parties, to decide upon the best means of removing the lady, who was utterly incapable of moving a step, and scarcely of lifting her form on her rude couch. Uncle Nathan was not long in devising a method; and, directing Pat to enlarge the aperture through which the captives were to escape, he went in search of some canes, with which to construct a litter. Pat applied himself vigorously to his task, tumbling over the huge stones like playthings, and handling the shovel with all that dexterity for which the Celtic race is so distinguished.
A rude litter was constructed, on which were laid the coats of the party, so as to render it as comfortable as possible to the sufferer. Uncle Nathan and Dalhousie, with much tenderness, though not without pain to the invalid, succeeded in getting her through the aperture into the open air, where she was placed upon the litter.
It was decided to carry her to the house of Mr. Faxon, upon whose active sympathies they relied for shelter and assistance; and they went with the more confidence, because Uncle Nathan had heard from Emily the interest he took in her affairs. The litter was borne by Uncle Nathan and Pat, while Dalhousie walked by its side, to cheer the heart of his wife by promises of future joy, which the uncertain future might never redeem.