For a week the stagnant heat brooded over Santa Brigida, sucking up the
citizens' energy and leaving limp depression. Steaming showers that broke
at intervals filled the air with an enervating damp, and the nights were
worse than the days. No draught crept through the slits of windows into
the darkened houses, and the musty smell that characterizes old Spanish
cities gathered in the patios and sweltering rooms.
This reacted upon Dick, who had a bad relapse, and for some days caused
his nurses grave anxiety. There was sickness in the town and the doctor
could spare but little time to him, the nursing sister was occupied, and
Dick was, for the most part, left to Clare and Lucille. They did what
they could; the girl with pitiful tenderness, the mulatto woman with
patience and some skill, but Dick did not know until afterwards that, in
a measure, he owed his life to them. Youth, however, was on his side, the
delirium left him, and after lying for a day or two in half-conscious
stupor, he came back to his senses, weak but with unclouded mind. He knew
he was getting better and his recovery would not be long, but his
satisfaction was marred by keen bitterness. Clare had stolen his papers
and ruined him.
Point by point he recalled his visit to Kenwardine's house, trying to
find something that could be urged in the girl's defense and when he
failed seeking excuses for her; but her guilt was obvious. He hated to
own it, but the proof was overwhelming. She knew the power of her beauty
and had treated him as a confiding fool. He was not revengeful and had
been a fool, but it hurt him badly to realize that she was not what he
had thought. He hardly spoke to Lucille, who came in now and then, and
did not ask for Clare, as he had hitherto done. The girl did not know
this because she was taking the rest she needed after a week of strain.
Jake was his first visitor next morning and Dick asked for a cigarette.
"I'm well enough to do what I like again," he said. "I expect you came
here now and then."
"I did, but they would only let me see you once. I suppose you know you
were very ill?"
"Yes; I feel like that. But I dare say you saw Kenwardine. It looks as if
this is his house."
"It is. We brought you here because it's near the street where you got
stabbed."
Dick said nothing for a minute, and then asked: "What's Kenwardine doing
in Santa Brigida?"
"It's hard to say. Like other foreigners in the town, he's probably here
for what he can get; looking for concessions or a trading monopoly of
some kind."
"Ah!" said Dick. "I'm not sure. But do you like him?"