How changed from the strong man whom she last saw at their old home!—a man whom travel, toil, privation of any ordinary kind, in whatever weather it might be—winter storm or summer heat—seemed but to refresh and invigorate. And now, how shrunken, nerveless, emaciated!—every trace of colour fled from his bronzed cheek, and supplanted by the saffron hue which confinement of any kind conjoined with disease brings even to the most robust.
Was this indeed Arnold Banneret? When he saw himself in the glass he hardly recognised his own features.
‘I am afraid I must interrupt the interview, Mrs. Banneret,’ said a low, carefully modulated voice, as, after premonitory tapping, the slender, graceful form of Nurse Lilburne entered the room; ‘but, with apologies to you, Dr. Horton cautioned me against the danger of over-fatigue or excitement at meeting you. I feel certain you will pardon me. We have to be so careful against the chance of a relapse.’
‘I will pardon everything, and only wish to thank you from the bottom of my heart for the care you have taken, and the saving of my husband’s life. I shall never forget it, believe me. We shall both cherish you as a valued friend to the end of our days. And now, I will say good-bye. I suppose I may come again in the evening?’
‘Oh, certainly!—I can depute some of my duties to you with safety, at this stage.’
From that day it may easily be understood that the patient’s convalescence steadily advanced, that his progress in health was comparatively rapid. His strength, indeed, took longer to build up than he imagined would be the case. After leaving his bed for the first time he could not walk without support, and even dressing had to be effected by easy stages. However, if the progress of gaining strength was slow, it was sure, and before the month was out he was, to use the common phrase, ‘a new man.’
Then he was able to be driven round the field by his wife—to observe, and, in a sense, to enjoy the unfamiliar points of this most extraordinary region—surely one of the most amazing storehouses of the Golden Lure ever unearthed by civilised man. Though the soil was barren and rock-strewn, the rainfall scanty and uncertain, the heat of midsummer terrific, the miners had already made pathetic, not wholly unsuccessful efforts to establish gardens—a few vegetables, and the commoner sort of flowers, carefully watered, repaid their pains. Even the desert shrubs and wild flowers were heedfully transplanted, and in many instances embellished the humble homes, temporary though they might be, which sprang up in the wilderness. In some instances, where the ground was apparently all rock, holes and excavations had been blasted out and filled with alluvial, wherein the bulbs and roots put forth their shoots.