When she awoke it
was broad daylight.
About her were clustered a score of curious natives--mostly men,
for among the aborigines it is the male who owns this characteristic
in its most exaggerated form. Instinctively Jane Clayton drew
the baby more closely to her, though she soon saw that the blacks
were far from intending her or the child any harm.
In fact, one of them offered her a gourd of milk--a filthy,
smoke-begrimed gourd, with the ancient rind of long-curdled milk
caked in layers within its neck; but the spirit of the giver touched
her deeply, and her face lightened for a moment with one of those
almost forgotten smiles of radiance that had helped to make her
beauty famous both in Baltimore and London.
She took the gourd in one hand, and rather than cause the giver
pain raised it to her lips, though for the life of her she could
scarce restrain the qualm of nausea that surged through her as the
malodorous thing approached her nostrils.
It was Anderssen who came to her rescue, and taking the gourd from
her, drank a portion himself, and then returned it to the native
with a gift of blue beads.
The sun was shining brightly now, and though the baby still slept,
Jane could scarce restrain her impatient desire to have at least
a brief glance at the beloved face.
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