Oh, the wild, imploring eyes that pierced Mrs. Murphy through! the heart-breaking eyes that entreated vainly, refusing the one unalterable fiat!
“Ah, dear, they’sen don’t hev any ch’ice. O Dil, Dilly Quinn!” and she clasped the child to her heart. “You mustn’t take on so, dear! Shure, God knows best. Mebbe he’s better’n folks an’ the things they say. She won’t suffer any more, pore dear. I’ve seen it for weeks, an’ knowed what must come.”
Dil gave a few long, dry, terrible sobs; then she lay helpless in Mrs. Murphy’s arms. The kind soul placed her on the cot, sprinkled water on her face, chafed her hands; but Dil lay as one dead.
Then she ran down-stairs.
“O Mrs. Minch! have ye iver a bit of camphire? I used the last o’ mine this mornin’ for the pore old craythur. Bessy Quinn’s gone at last, an’ is cold, an’ Dil’s that overcome she’s gone in an norful faint. Come up a bit, do. An’ that haythen woman’ll not care more’n if it was a kitten. She do be the hardest!”
Mrs. Minch laid down her work, looked up the “camphire,” and plied her caller with inquiries.
All their efforts were unavailing, though Dil opened her eyes once, and at intervals a shudder ran through her frame.
“Yes, the poor dear’s dead and cold, and it’s God’s mercy, Mrs. Murphy. How she’s lived so long’s a mystery; but Dil’s been more watchful than most any mother. She was the sweetest and patientest, and loved her beyond all things. Mrs. Quinn hasn’t any human feeling in her, and there’s plenty like her, more’s the shame. When you bring helpless little ones in the world, it’s not their fault. And when they are bruised and banged and made helpless, as that poor little one, a mother’s heart should have pitied her.”
“Oh, dear, it’s the rum that takes out all the nateral feelin’. An’ one ’ud think she’d had enough of it in her husband, not to be goin’ the same way. An’ pore Dil carin’ for them babies an’ doin’ a woman’s work, a-stuntin’ her an’ makin’ her old afore her time. An’, if ye’ll stay, I’ll go fer th’ ’Spensary doctor. Sorra a Christmas it’ll be in the court. Mr. Sheehan is dyin’, an’ Mrs. Neefus’s baby went yes’tday, an’ the ould woman—but they do be dyin’ all the time, some wan.”
Mrs. Minch bent over Dil with pitying eyes. She had seen better times, and lived in a nicer neighborhood than Barker’s Court. But poverty had driven her down step by step. She had her old deaf father to care for, and a son growing up; and the three rooms, such as they were, proved cheaper than anything she had seen, though she was on the lookout all the time. She had not made much intimacy with her neighbors, except that through her pity for Mrs. Bolan she had come to know good-hearted Mrs. Murphy quite well, and she had been interested in Dilsey and Bess. But most of the people in the court were afraid of Mrs. Quinn’s tongue.