No, no! Speak
not of food to me!"
"Pap, and a little brandy in," said Tant Sannie coaxingly.
Bonaparte caught the word.
"Perhaps, perhaps--if I struggled with myself--for the sake of my duties I
might imbibe a few drops," he said, looking with quivering lip up into the
German's face. "I must do my duty, must I not?"
Tant Sannie gave the order, and the girl went for the pap.
"I know how it was when my first husband died. They could do nothing with
me," the Boer-woman said, "till I had eaten a sheep's trotter, and honey,
and a little roaster-cake. I know."
Bonaparte sat up on the bed with his legs stretched out in front of him,
and a hand on each knee, blubbering softly.
"Oh, she was a woman! You are very kind to try and comfort me, but she was
my wife. For a woman that is my wife I could live; for the woman that is
my wife I could die! For a woman that is my wife I could--Ah! that sweet
word "wife"; when will it rest upon my lips again?"
When his feelings had subsided a little he raised the corners of his
turned-down mouth, and spoke to the German with flabby lips.
"Do you think she understands me? Oh, tell her every word, that she may
know I thank her."
At that instant the girl reappeared with a basin of steaming gruel and a
black bottle.
Tant Sannie poured some of its contents into the basin, stirred it well,
and came to the bed.
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