On the tenth day
after our arrival at Beza, according to my diary, which, having little
else to do, I entered up fully at this time, we thought that he would
surely die. Even Brother John, who attended him with the most constant
skill, and who had ample quinine and other drugs at his command, for
these we had brought with us from Durban in plenty, gave up the case.
Day and night the poor fellow raved and always about that confounded
orchid, the loss of which seemed to weigh upon his mind as though it
were a whole sackful of unrepented crimes.
I really think that he owed his life to a subterfuge, or rather to a
bold invention of Hope's. One evening, when he was at his very worst
and going on like a mad creature about the lost plant--I was present
in the hut at the time alone with him and her--she took his hand and
pointing to a perfectly open space on the floor, said:
"Look, O Stephen, the flower has been brought back."
He stared and stared, and then to my amazement answered:
"By Jove, so it has! But those beggars have broken off all the blooms
except one.
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