The Indian woman fed me with far greater care than I was worth, and hushed me, with some soothing process, into another abyss of sleep.
More than a week passed by me thus, in the struggle between life and death, before I was able to get clear knowledge of any body or any thing.

No one, in my wakeful hours, came into my little bedroom except this careful Indian nurse, who hushed me off to sleep whenever I wanted to ask questions.

Suan Isco, as she was called, possessed a more than mesmeric power of soothing a weary frame to rest; and this was seconded, where I lay, by the soft, incessant cadence and abundant roar of water.
Thus every day I recovered strength and natural impatience.
"The master is coming to see you, shild," Suan said to me one day, when I had sat up and done my hair, and longed to be down by the water-fall; "if, if--too much Inglese--old Suan say no more can now." "If I am ready and able and willing! Oh, Suan, run and tell him not to lose one moment." "No sure; Suan no sure at all," she answered, looking at me calmly, as if there were centuries yet to spare.

"Suan no hurry; shild no hurry; master no hurry: come last of all." "I tell you, Suan, I want to see him.

And I am not accustomed to be kept waiting.