“Flora preferred waiting till you should come.”
Dr. May made an impatient movement, and thought the way long, till they were set down in Park Lane. Meta came to meet them on the stairs, and said that the baby was just the same, and Flora was in the nursery, and thither they hastily ascended.
“Oh, papa! I am so glad you are come!” said Flora, starting up from her low seat, beside the cradle.
Dr. May hardly paused to embrace his daughter, and she anxiously led him to the cradle, and tried to read his expression, as his eyes fell on the little face, somewhat puffed, but of a waxy whiteness, and the breathing seeming to come from the lips.
“How long has she been so?” he asked, in a rapid, professional manner.
“For about two or three hours. She was very fretful before, but I did not like to call in any one, as you were coming. Is it from her teeth?” said Flora, more and more alarmed by his manner. “Her complexion is always like that—she cannot bear to be disturbed,” added she, as the child feebly moaned, on Dr. May beginning to take her from her cradle; but, without attending to the objection, he lifted her up, so that she lay as quietly as before, on his arm. Flora had trusted that hope and confidence would come with him; but, on the contrary, every lurking misgiving began to rush wildly over her, as she watched his countenance, while he carried his little granddaughter towards the light, studied her intently, raised her drooping eyelids, and looked into her eyes, scarcely eliciting another moan. Flora dared not ask a question, but looked on with eyes open, as it were, stiffened.
“This is the effect of opium,” were Dr. May’s first words, breaking on all with startling suddenness; but, before any one could speak, he added, “We must try some stimulant directly;” then looking round the room, “What have you nearest?”
“Godfrey’s Cordial, sir,” quickly suggested the nurse.
“Ay—anything to save time—she is sinking for want of the drug that has—” He broke off to apportion the dose, and to hold the child in a position to administer it—Flora tried to give it—the nurse tried—in vain.
“Do not torment her further,” said the doctor, as Flora would have renewed the trial—“it cannot be done. What have you all been doing?” cried he, as, looking up, his face changed from the tender compassion with which he had been regarding his little patient, into a look of strong indignation, and one of his sentences of hasty condemnation broke from him, as it would not have done, had Flora been less externally calm. “I tell you this child has been destroyed with opium!”