He had not any wish to stir, and he lay
wondering idly how long he had been ill. While he wondered he heard the
shouts of the gaolers, the cries of the prisoners outside the zareeba
and in the direction of the river. The gate was opened, and the
prisoners flocked in. Feversham was among them, and he walked straight
to Trench's corner.
"Thank God!" he cried. "I would not have left you, but I was compelled.
We have been unloading boats all day." And he dropped in fatigue by
Trench's side.
"How long have I lain ill?" asked Trench.
"Thirteen days."
"It will be a month before I can travel. You must go, Feversham. You
must leave me here, and go while you still can. Perhaps when you come to
Assouan you can do something for me. I could not move at present. You
will go to-morrow?"
"No, I should not go without you in any case," answered Feversham. "As
it is, it is too late."
"Too late?" Trench repeated. He took in the meaning of the words but
slowly; he was almost reluctant to be disturbed by their mere sound; he
wished just to lie idle for a long time in the cool of the sunset. But
gradually the import of what Feversham had said forced itself into his
mind.
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