Part 62 (1/2)

”I know nothing of illness,” said Mrs. Hauksbee to the Doctor. ”Only tell me what to do, and I'll do it.”

”Keep that crazy woman from kissing the child, and let her have as little to do with the nursing as you possibly can,” said the Doctor; ”I'd turn her out of the sick-room, but that I honestly believe she'd die of anxiety. She is less than no good, and I depend on you and the ayahs, remember.”

Mrs. Hauksbee accepted the responsibility, though it painted olive hollows under her eyes and forced her to her oldest dresses. Mrs. Bent clung to her with more than childlike faith.

”I know you'll, make Dora well, won't you?” she said at least twenty times a day; and twenty times a day Mrs. Hauksbee answered valiantly, ”Of course I will.”

But Dora did not improve, and the Doctor seemed to be always in the house.

”There's some danger of the thing taking a bad turn,” he said; ”I'll come over between three and four in the morning tomorrow.”

”Good gracious!” said Mrs. Hauksbee. ”He never told me what the turn would be! My education has been horribly neglected; and I have only this foolish mother-woman to fall back upon.”

The night wore through slowly, and Mrs. Hauksbee dozed in a chair by the fire. There was a dance at the Viceregal Lodge, and she dreamed of it till she was aware of Mrs. Bent's anxious eyes staring into her own.

”Wake up! Wake up! Do something!” cried Mrs. Bent, piteously. ”Dora's choking to death! Do you mean to let her die?”

Mrs. Hauksbee jumped to her feet and bent over the bed. The child was fighting for breath, while the mother wrung her hands despairing.

”Oh, what can I do? What can you do? She won't stay still! I can't hold her. Why didn't the Doctor say this was coming?” screamed Mrs. Bent.

”Won't you help me? She's dying!”

”I-I've never seen a child die before!” stammered Mrs. Hauksbee, feebly, and then--let none blame her weakness after the strain of long watching--she broke down, and covered her face with her hands. The ayahs on the threshold snored peacefully.

There was a rattle of 'rickshaw wheels below, the clash of an opening door, a heavy step on the stairs, and Mrs. Delville entered to find Mrs.

Bent screaming for the Doctor as she ran round the room. Mrs. Hauksbee, her hands to her ears, and her face buried in the chintz of a chair, was quivering with pain at each cry from the bed, and murmuring, ”Thank G.o.d, I never bore a child! Oh! thank G.o.d, I never bore a child!”

Mrs. Delville looked at the bed for an instant, took Mrs. Bent by the shoulders, and said, quietly, ”Get me some caustic. Be quick.”

The mother obeyed mechanically. Mrs. Delville had thrown herself down by the side of the child and was opening its mouth.

”Oh, you're killing her!” cried Mrs. Bent. ”Where's the Doctor! Leave her alone!”

Mrs. Delville made no reply for a minute, but busied herself with the child.

”Now the caustic, and hold a lamp behind my shoulder. Will you do as you are told? The acid-bottle, if you don't know what I mean,” she said.

A second time Mrs. Delville bent over the child. Mrs. Hauksbee, her face still hidden, sobbed and s.h.i.+vered. One of the ayahs staggered sleepily into the room, yawning: ”Doctor Sahib come.”

Mrs. Delville turned her head.

”You're only just in time,” she said. ”It was chokin' her when I came in, an' I've burned it.”

”There was no sign of the membrane getting to the air-pa.s.sages after the last steaming. It was the general weakness, I feared,” said the Doctor half to himself, and he whispered as he looked. ”You've done what I should have been afraid to do without consultation.”

”She was dyin',” said Mrs. Delville, under her breath. ”Can you do anythin'? What a mercy it was I went to the dance!”

Mrs. Hauksbee raised her head.