The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1896-11-22
MALARIA

She shook. Her body quivered with pain.
Faster and yet faster came the long-drawn
shudders, every thrill Of chill acuter than
the last. The fire blazed high in its honest
effort TO create heat, the blankets and COW
erlets zealously wrapped her about the hot
brandy and water throbbed in her brain
but would nothing ever warm her geld
blood? What unknown Ice was this grip
ping the marrow of her bones? Her chat
tering teeth clicked together and she was
harassed in endeavoring to restrain their
rafting. Would the doctor never come?
The bed trembed under her. the very walls
and ceiling were wavering. Perhaps 1t
would be better to have it all ended quick
ly in one universal quake. She shook.
But no; the spasms are becoming less
severe. Another blanket may thaw these
pitiless pangs and rout the cold. A feeble
warmth touches her breast. 1t extends and
envelopes her in its glow. But what is this
sudden, new torture that has seized her
brain. dilatlng her eyes and dimming her
sight with its aestuous waves? The dis
comfited enemy has given place to one diff
fering in kind, but not degree. The fevered
heat Is becoming unbearable. and her lique-
fed flesh is oozing away. To sleep! There
is the remedy. If she Wills to sleep with
obliterated. for a time at least.
But hist! She must be quick about it.
Those faces on the ceiling. one-eyed faces,
kideous single eyes. hold a menace in them.
See them, In the brilliant, leaping freight.
fox-faced and dog-faced men, pig faces
with single eye! What has happened to
the other eye to eternally blot it out?
Bleary. sinister, protruding. dead-fshy.
c11c va nv do thav har
so? She is no ready and willing victim to
the evil eye. to be lured to destruction by
a glance. Ever and again the faces disap-
pear in the pickering shadows, only to APP
preach stealthily nearer. She would smash
them If she could reach them, but the cor
don remains just beyond arms length.
Now will she escape those grisly eyes
Turning her face to the pillow, ostrich-like
she shuts out the sight. She begins to
count slowly. If she counts to three hun
dred she will surely fall asleep. One, two,
three, four, five. Oh, horror A white
vapor puffs into her face, and with each
slow breath she counts she Is inhaling
the sufocating steam. She must count
faster. faster, and blow back the insidous
cloud. She pants laboriously, explosively
expelling the deadly mist. A few more
breaths and she is done. A hand reaches
for the last mephitic fire. gments, and with
draws through the floor the box from which
the fumes arose She sits up in bed and
assures herself that the room is quite as
usual.
oh. for a little, just tiny. nap of real
refreshing sleep. The counting has grown
so tiresome, and every nerve quivers with
exhaustion, but she will keep up the fight
What is this dangling before her face-a
burial robe? She is gently invited to put it
on. The diaphanous Grape is exquisitely
embroidered, and she recoils from the
thought of sullying its pure wilderness with
the stain of the grave. Besides, the worms
Will crawl in and out and to put on these
grave clothes will not bring tranquility
but is a Punishment to unclean things
IL one, in DOMINIC the robe, could also put
on wings and be translated to the upper
ether, she would not hesitate TO fly from
this WEAKNESS and lassitude. She watches
the golden shaft of light rising straight
and far. the road to the highest heaven
although she cannot see its upper limits
But of what use to her, when there are no
pinions with which to reach its lowest
round? She is not all body. neither is she
yet ready to become all spirit. She cannot
climb and will not be entombed.
Sadiy ana SLOWLY the slelnnlnS white gar
ment is withdrawn. and she watches it
fade from sight. up the golden shaft. with
something like regret. but she will not re-
call it. She knows she has not yet been
asleep. and shaking up the pillow, deter
minedly takes up the count She tries to
think of sheep going through a gate. and
counts them as they pass, but somehow
she is mixed up with the flock and is
ed he Uaf Wit, ~,
place is this? a white graveyard, exqui-
sitely pure. The marble forms of the dead
lie peacefully reposing on the white waste.
They are so quiet. so happy, so undis-
turbed. "a voice directs her TO a vacant
spot. exactly fitted to her body, where she
may lie In unthinking calm amid a nobA
silepcel 10 think no more. to know M
mq then win this brain pain cease. To