At this juncture Hadden swooned away.

*****

Twenty-four hours had gone by when, after what seemed to him to be but a
little time of troubled and dreamful sleep, through which he could hear
voices without understanding what they said, and feel himself borne he
knew not whither, Hadden awoke to find himself lying upon a kaross in
a large and beautifully clean Kaffir hut with a bundle of furs for a
pillow. There was a bowl of milk at his side and tortured as he was by
thirst, he tried to stretch out his arm to lift it to his lips, only to
find to his astonishment that his hand fell back to his side like that
of a dead man. Looking round the hut impatiently, he found that there
was nobody in it to assist him, so he did the only thing which remained
for him to do--he lay still. He did not fall asleep, but his eyes
closed, and a kind of gentle torpor crept over him, half obscuring his
recovered senses. Presently he heard a soft voice speaking; it seemed
far away, but he could clearly distinguish the words.

"Black Heart still sleeps," the voice said, "but there is colour in his
face; I think that he will wake soon, and find his thoughts again."

"Have no fear, Nanea, he will surely wake, his hurts are not dangerous,"
answered another voice, that of Nahoon. "He fell heavily with the weight
of the tiger on top of him, and that is why his senses have been shaken
for so long. He went near to death, but certainly he will not die."

"It would have been a pity if he had died," answered the soft voice, "he
is so beautiful; never have I seen a white man who was so beautiful."