Chapter 53

CHAPTER 11

Gideon Spilett took the box and opened it. It contained nearly two hundred
grains of a white powder, a few particles of which he carried to his lips.
The extreme bitterness of the substance precluded all doubt; it was
certainly the precious extract of quinine, that pre-eminent antifebrile.

This powder must be administered to Herbert without delay. How it came
there might be discussed later.

"Some coffee!" said Spilett.

In a few moments Neb brought a cup of the warm infusion. Gideon Spilett
threw into it about eighteen grains of quinine, and they succeeded in
making Herbert drink the mixture.

There was still time, for the third attack of the malignant fever had not
yet shown itself. How they longed to be able to add that it would not
return!

Besides, it must be remarked, the hopes of all had now revived. The
mysterious influence had been again exerted, and in a critical moment, when
they had despaired of it.

In a few hours Herbert was much calmer. The colonists could now discuss
this incident. The intervention of the stranger was more evident than ever.
But how had he been able to penetrate during the night into Granite House?
It was inexplicable, and, in truth, the proceedings of the genius of the
island were not less mysterious than was that genius himself. During this
day the sulphate of quinine was administered to Herbert every three hours.

The next day some improvement in Herbert's condition was apparent.
Certainly, he was not out of danger, intermittent fevers being subject to
frequent and dangerous relapses, but the most assiduous care was bestowed
on him. And besides, the specific was at hand; nor, doubtless, was he who
had brought it far distant! And the hearts of all were animated by
returning hope.

This hope was not disappointed. Ten days after, on the 20th of December,
Herbert's convalescence commenced.

He was still weak, and strict diet had been imposed upon him, but no
access of fever supervened. And then, the poor boy submitted with such
docility to all the prescriptions ordered him! He longed so to get well!

Pencroft was as a man who has been drawn up from the bottom of an abyss.
Fits of joy approaching delirium seized him. When the time for the third
attack had passed by, he nearly suffocated the reporter in his embrace.
Since then, he always called him Dr. Spilett.

The real doctor, however, remained undiscovered.

"We will find him!" repeated the sailor.

Certainly, this man, whoever he was, might expect a somewhat too
energetic embrace from the worthy Pencroft!

The month of December ended, and with it the year 1867, during which the
colonists of Lincoln Island had of late been so severely