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Nohether the Indian's knife was poisoned or no I cannot say, but for two days I lay direly sick and scarce able to crawl, conscious only of the soothing tones of her voice and touch of her hands But upon the third day, opening h marvellous weak And as I stirred she was beside me on her knees

"Drink this, Martin!" says she And I obeying, found it was excellent broth And when I had drunk all I closed hty content, and so lay a while

"My Lady Joan," says I at last, "wherefore did you weep?"

"O Martin!" she sighed, "'Twas because that ive you and you so sick!" Here was silence a while

"But whence cooat, Martin; in a noose of hide set a the rocks; and then--then I had to kill it--O Martin!"

"You--caught and--killed a goat!"

"Yes, Martin You had to be fed--but O, the poor thing--!"

"Surely," said I at last, "O surely never had ratitude?"

"By going to sleep, Martin Your wound is well-nigh healed, sleep is all you need" And sleep I did; though at that tihts to come ain, and others with hi upon us to our torht I awoke parched with thirst and the night very hot and with the ot toyet very feeble when her voice reached !" says I

"Bide you still!" she comht with one of our larger shells to bringhead

"Lie you down!" says she o myself--" But she was past ht stay her; but scarce had I seatedin her hands; so I drank eagerly enough but with aze on the sheen of white, rounded ar eain she had vanished into her own small cave