At first I thought it must have been Yamba's voice, but I remembered that she did not know a word of French; and when I looked round there was no one to be seen.

The mysterious message still rang in my ears, but I was far too weak to attempt to cut the tree myself, I lay there in a state of inert drowsiness until, rousing myself a little before dawn, I heard the familiar footsteps of Yamba approaching the spot where I lay.

Her face expressed anxiety, earnestness, and joy.
In her trembling hands she bore a big lily leaf containing two or three ounces of life-giving water.

This I drank with gasping eagerness, as you may suppose.

My delirium had now entirely left me, although I was still unable to speak.