Harry Leon Wilson,
The Lions of the Lord: A Tale of the Old West
“ But she became grave, and was diverted from her own affairs when she observed him more closely. “Why, you’re sick—you’re burning up with fever! You must be covered up at once and have sage tea.” He laughed at her, a free, full laugh, such as she had never heard from him in all the years. “It’s no fever, child. It’s new life come to me. I’m strong again. My face burns, but it must be the fire of health. I have a work given to me—God has not wholly put me aside.” “But I believe you are sick. Your hands are so hot, and your eyes look so unnatural. ”
