He had had it himself
off and on, he said, for a couple of years or so; but he was thankful
that, while so many he had known had died about him, he had escaped with
life.
'And with not too much of that,' thought Mark, surveying his emaciated
form. 'Eden for ever!'
They had some medicine in their chest; and this man of sad experience
showed Mark how and when to administer it, and how he could best
alleviate the sufferings of Martin. His attentions did not stop there;
for he was backwards and forwards constantly, and rendered Mark
good service in all his brisk attempts to make their situation more
endurable. Hope or comfort for the future he could not bestow. The
season was a sickly one; the settlement a grave. His child died that
night; and Mark, keeping the secret from Martin, helped to bury it,
beneath a tree, next day.
With all his various duties of attendance upon Martin (who became the
more exacting in his claims, the worse he grew), Mark worked out of
doors, early and late; and with the assistance of his friend and others,
laboured to do something with their land. Not that he had the least
strength of heart or hope, or steady purpose in so doing, beyond the
habitual cheerfulness of his disposition, and his amazing power of
self-sustainment; for within himself, he looked on their condition
as beyond all hope, and, in his own words, 'came out strong' in
consequence.
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