For three days he went on quite well. Indeed, the wounds had begun to
heal healthily when suddenly some kind of fever took him, caused, I
suppose, by the poison of the leopard's fangs or claws.
Oh! what a terrible week was that which followed! He became delirious,
raving continually of all sorts of things, and especially of Miss
Margaret Manners. I kept up his strength as well as was possible with
soup made from the flesh of game, mixed with a little brandy which I
had. But he grew weaker and weaker. Also the wounds in the thigh began
to suppurate.
The Kaffirs whom we had with us were of little use in such a case, so
that all the nursing fell on me. Luckily, beyond a shaking, the
leopard had done me no hurt, and I was very strong in those days.
Still the lack of rest told on me, since I dared not sleep for more
than half an hour or so at a time. At length came a morning when I was
quite worn out. There lay poor Scroope turning and muttering in the
little tent, and there I sat by his side, wondering whether he would
live to see another dawn, or if he did, for how long I should be able
to tend him.
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