For never was a better doctor for malarial fever than Colin McKeith--he had had so much experience of it.

When towards morning she fell into a profuse sweating, and he had to change and wring out the blankets in which he had wrapped her, he knew that the fever danger was past.
She awoke at mid-day from a deep, health-restoring sleep, so weak however, that her bones felt like water and her face looked as white as the pillow case.

But her brain was clear.
She saw that there was no one else in the room, which was still in great disorder.

The blankets, hot and heavy, were almost unbearable, but she had not strength to fling them off.

It felt frightfully warm for the time of year and the air that came in through the open French window seemed to be blowing from an oven.