The Living Mummy by Ambrose Pratt — Read

Of course, I had swooned, and equally, of course, not on the bank of a rivulet and under the cool shade of palm trees, but in the full blaze of the mid-day sun and on the smooth, unprotected burning surface of the desert. It was the accursed sarcophagus perfume that had worked the mischief. Fortunately Miss Ottley saw me fall; otherwise I might have had a sunstroke. Belleville and the Captain carried me between them to the shade of one of the pylons, and Belleville opened a vein in my left arm -- a proceeding I am prevented from commenting on by considerations of professional etiquette. Happily, I recovered consciousness in time to save a little of my precious blood. I told Belleville my opinion of him in one comprehensive scowl, which he interpreted correctly, I am glad to say, and then got up. I bandaged my arm myself and made off for the Captain's tent. That gentleman followed me.

There arrived, I cast myself upon the cot and swore at ease. Weldon listened in spellbound admiration. He afterwards assured me that he had never before encountered such proficient fluency in objurgation and invective. I was madder than a hatter, and the more because I was as weak as a cat, and I wanted to be strong, with all my soul. Yet, five days passed before I felt well enough to be able to attack the task in front of me. Meanwhile, I told the Captain very little and Miss Ottley nothing. How could I let her know I knew her father to be a confounded old rascal? She was very good. She visited me every day and spent hours reading aloud by my bedside, while the Captain and I watched her face and thought much the same thoughts; though I took care, for my own part, not to let my features reflect the fatuous devotion of the Captain's.