XI
For some time from exhaustion and emotion he could not utter a word, and stood panting heavily before the man lying on the bed, who also was silent and stared at him with an amazement bordering almost upon unconsciousness.
Finally the latter exclaimed:
"Nasibu! Are you there?"
"Yes, master," answered the negro lad.
"Do you see any one—any one standing there before me?"
But before the boy was able to reply Stas recovered his speech.
"Sir," he said, "my name is Stanislas Tarkowski. With little Miss Rawlinson I have escaped from dervish captivity and we are hiding in the jungle. But Nell is terribly sick; and for her sake I beg for help."
The unknown continued to stare at him, blinking with his eyes, and then rubbed his brow with his hand.
"I not only see but hear!" he said to himself. "This is no illusion! What? Help? I myself am in need of help. I am wounded."
Suddenly, however, he shook himself as though out of a wild dream or torpor, gazed more consciously, and, with a gleam of joy in his eyes, said:
"A white boy!—I again see a white one! I welcome you whoever you are. Did you speak of some sick girl? What do you want of me?"
