But it is not this which occupies him now. He has prepared for
Marimonda a bed beside his own; he takes care of her, he watches over
her, he leaves her only to seek in the woods, or on the mountains, the
herb which may heal her; he brings all sorts, and by armfuls, that she
may choose;--does she not know them better than himself?
As she turns away her head, or repulses with the hand those which he
presents, he thinks he has not yet discovered the one she requires,
and though still suffering, though himself exhausted by so many
varying emotions, he re-commences his search, to summon the entire
island to the assistance of Marimonda. From each of his trees he
borrows a branch; from his bushes, his rocks, his streams--a plant, a
fruit, a leaf, a root! For the first time he ventures across the
_pajonals_--spongy marshes formed by the sea along the cliffs, and
where, beneath the shade of the mangroves, grow those singular
vegetables, those gelatinous plants, endowed with vitality and motion.
At sight of all these remedies, Marimonda closes her eyes, and reopens
them only to address to her friend a look of gratitude.
The only thing she accepts is the water he offers her, the water which
he himself holds to her lips in his cocoa-nut cup.
During a whole week, Selkirk remains constantly absorbed in these
cares, useless cares!--Marimonda cannot be healed! In her breast,
bruised by the folds of the lasso, exists an important lesion of the
organs essential to life, and from time to time a gush of blood
reddens her white teeth.
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