Finally she glanced up and discovered him locking at her. She arose and
came to the bedside, her finger on her lips.
"You mustn't talk," she said sweetly, a great joy in her eyes. "I'm so
glad you're better."
She left the room, and returned in a little time with a bowl of chicken
broth, which she fed him with a spoon. It tasted very good to him, and
he felt the stronger for it, but as yet his voice seemed a long
distance away. When she turned to leave the room, however, he murmured
inarticulately and attempted to stir. She came back to the bed at once.
"I'll be back in a minute," she said gently, but seeing some look of
pleading in his eyes, she put the empty bowl and spoon on the little
table and sat down on the floor near the bed. He smiled, and then,
closing his eyes, fell asleep--outside the borders of the land of
visions, and with the music of a woman's voice haunting the last
moments of his consciousness.
After the fever had once broken, his return to strength was rapid.
Although accompanied by delirium, and though running its full course of
weeks, the "mountain fever" is not as intense as typhoid.
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