The storm had spent itself before the break of day, and descending from
his perch with the first faint rays of light that penetrated the gloomy
recesses of the swamp, he made his way out of it, slowly and toilsomely,
with weary, aching limbs, suffering intensely from the gnawings of hunger
and thirst, the pain of his injury, and the fear of being overtaken by the
avengers of his innocent victims. Truly, as the Bible tells us, "the way
of transgressors is hard."
The sun was more than an hour high when Dr. Balis, ready to start upon his
morning round, and pacing thoughtfully to and fro upon the veranda of his
dwelling while waiting for his horse, saw a miserable looking object
coming up the avenue: a man almost covered from head to foot with blood
and mud; a white handkerchief, also both bloody and muddy, knotted around
the right arm, which hung apparently useless at his side. The man reeled
as he walked, either from intoxication or weakness and fatigue.
The doctor judged the latter, and called to a servant, "Nap, go and help
that man into the office." Then hurrying thither himself, got out lint,
bandages, instruments, whatever might be needed for the dressing of a
wound. With the assistance of Nap's strong arm, the man tottered in, then
sank, half fainting, into a chair.
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