"No," he said, looking backwards, "not you, Miss Powell; let me manage him."
Valmai turned white to the lips, and, gently putting the old woman aside, took her place at the bedside, where a pitiful sight met her eyes. Her little one lay in the terrible throes of "convulsions," and again the doctor tried to banish Valmai from the scene.
"Let me be," she said, in a quiet voice, which astonished the young man. "Let me be; I am used to trouble." And passing her arm under the little struggling frame, she supported it until the last gasp put an end to its sufferings.
Mr. Francis took the child into his own arms and laid it on the bed, turning his attention to Valmai, who had fallen fainting on the floor.
"Poor thing! poor thing!" said the tender-hearted young man. "It is a pity she cannot remain unconscious."
But he applied the usual restoratives, and she soon opened her eyes, while Nance straightened the folds of the little night-gown with loving fingers, tears coursing each other down her wrinkled face.
"Oh, dear heart! how will she bear it?"
Mr. Francis was silently bathing the girl's forehead.
"You are better now?" he asked.
"Yes," she said; "thank you. You have been very kind, but do not trouble to stay longer; I am quite well," and she slowly rose from the settle.