The boy nursed him and the German doctor came up from Attra and, when he learnt who his patient was, took up his quarters in the place.

But for all his care and the boy's nursing things went badly with Scarlett Trent.
To him ended for a while all measure of days--time became one long night, full of strange, tormenting flashes of thought, passing like red fire before his burning eyes.

Sometimes it was Monty crying to him from the bush, sometimes the yelling of those savages at Bekwando seemed to fill the air, sometimes Ernestine was there, listening to his passionate pleading with cold, set face, In the dead of night he saw her and the still silence was broken by his hoarse, passionate cries, which they strove in vain to check.

And when at last he lay white and still with exhaustion, the doctor looked at the boy and softly shook his head.

He had very little hope.
Trent grew worse.