“No use in going out; they are all coming into the veranda,” said Thud. “I informed them that the doctor was here.”
Dr. Pinfold gave rapid orders to a native servant who was waiting outside regarding things which might be needed in a surgical case. Whilst he was speaking, Oscar, with another man, bore into the veranda the slight form of a Karen woman. Her long black hair hung over Mr. Coldstream’s supporting shoulder, her garments were dabbled with blood, her eyes were closed; the poor creature gave no sign of life, not even a groan. A little Karen girl, some ten or twelve years of age, weeping as if her heart would break, hung over the charpai on which her mother was now laid—the simple light bedstead which is so easily carried, and which in the East seems to be always at hand. It had been brought from a servant’s house in the compound by the order of Oscar.
“Bring water—brandy!” cried Dr. Pinfold. Io was off in a moment and quickly brought both, whilst the doctor was examining the fearful wound of the patient.The glass was put to the poor woman’s lips, but they did not unclose; the liquid ran down on either side of the mouth, not a drop was taken in. The eyes under those heavy lids would never see the daylight again.
“No use; all’s over—she’s gone!” said Dr. Pinfold, after pressing his fingers on her wrist to feel the pulse which no longer beat. He saw that the woman was dead. “Nothing remains to be done but to carry off the body for burial.”
“So soon!” exclaimed Io in a tone of expostulation. “Is it not possible that life may linger?”
“Life is quite extinct,” said the doctor.
“She is deceased—annihilated—I told you so,” joined in Thud.
“We bury quickly in these latitudes,” observed Dr. Pinfold; “and it would not be well to keep a corpse in the house to which Coldstream has just brought his bride.”
“See, the veranda is desecrated by blood-stains,” said Thud, “and so is Io’s apparel.”
“Go and change it, my love,” cried Oscar with a look of pain almost amounting to horror.