NOT FORSAKEN
"Giles!" came the muffled answer, vibrant, husky throated. "Giles … my friend!"
"Hush!" whispered Leyden sternly. "Light the lamp."
The flame struggled down the wick; the light strove upward. Giles and Manning looked toward Dessalines. He was enveloped in Giles's dark-blue raincoat which Leyden had taken with him. The garment was covered with mud and slime. Both men were drenched, muddy, covered with innumerable scratches from some of which the blood trickled. Dessalines' feet were bare; his face gaunt, but composed. His eyes never left Leyden, whom he watched as a dog might his master. Occasionally he was shaken from head to feet by a nervous chill.
"Eh, well?" said Leyden speaking in French, "you were not getting anxious? Our friend here was somewhat overwrought and required much assurance of his safety. Now he will be better for a dose of bromide and a bed." He turned to Dessalines. "Is it not so, camarade?"
"Yes, yes, dear doctor," replied Dessalines in a shaking voice.
"But tell us—" began Giles eagerly.
"Speak French!" said Leyden curtly. He turned to Manning. "Let us show Dessalines to his room. Is the way clear?"
"The house is empty," said Manning. "Come on." He picked up the lamp, then set it down again. "Never mind the light," he said, and led the way in the darkness to a room which had been prepared for the Haytian.
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