After consulting his wife, he hesitated whether they should go
back to Tong-ch'uan-fu, or come on to the capital with me. The latter
course was decided upon, as I was so far from well--I learned this some
time afterwards. And now the story need not be lengthened.
At Lai-t'eo-po (see first section of the second book of this volume),
malaria came back, and an abnormal temperature made me delirious. The
following day I could not move, and it was not until I had been there
six days that I was again able to be moved. During this time, Mr. and
Mrs. Evans nursed me day and night, relieving each other for rest, in a
terrible Chinese inn--not a single moment did they leave me. The third
day they feared I was dying, and a message to that effect was sent to
the capital, informing the consul. Meanwhile malaria played fast and
loose, and promised a pitiable early dissolution. My kind, devoted
friends were fearful lest the innkeeper would have turned me out into
the roadway to die--the foreigner's spirit would haunt the place for
ever and a day were I allowed to die inside.
But I recovered.
It was a graver, older, less exuberant walker across China that
presently arose from his flea-ridden bed of sickness, and began to make
a languid personal introspection.
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