One evening, exhausted with fatigue, after having wrapped in a
covering of goat-skin Marimonda, who was in a violent fever, Selkirk
was preparing to retire to rest; she detained him, and, taking his
hand in both of hers, cast upon him a gentle and prolonged look, which
resembled an adieu.
He seated himself beside her on the ground.
Then, without letting go his hand, she leaned her head on her master's
knee, and fell asleep in this position. Selkirk dares not stir, for
fear of disturbing her repose. Insensibly sleep seizes him also.
In the morning when he awakes, the sun is illuminating the interior of
his cabin; Marimonda remains in the same attitude as the evening
before, but her hands are cold, and a swarm of flies and mosquitoes
are thrusting their sharp trunks into her eyes and ears.
She is a corpse.
Selkirk raises her, uttering a cry, and, after having cast an angry
look towards heaven, wipes away two tears that trickle down his
cheeks.
Thou thoughtest thyself insensible, Selkirk, and behold, thou art
weeping!--thou, who hast more than once seen, with unmoistened eye,
men, thy companions, in war or at sea, fall beneath a furious sword,
or under the fire of batteries! Among the sentiments which honor
humanity, which elevate it notwithstanding its defects, thou hadst
preserved at least thy confidence in God and in his mercy, Selkirk,
and to-day thou doubtest both!
Why dost thou weep? why dost thou distrust God?
Because thy monkey is dead!
CHAPTER X.
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