"It's not half so apt to die if treated on the spiritual plane; and if it dies we'll know that we have done all that opportunity offered. In all such cases the true physician can only commend the patient to the care of a loving Providence, feeling assured that disorder has its laws and limitations and that suffering is a means of developing the inner nature."
Having reeled this off like a phrase often spoken, Miss Bowyer walked over to the bed where the little lad lay.
"Miss Bowyer," said Mrs. Martin, with an earnestness born of her agony, "I don't believe in your treatment at all."
"That's not necessary," said the doctor with a jaunty firmness; "the faith of one parent is sufficient to save the sick."
"This is my child, and I wish you to leave him alone," said Mrs. Martin.
"I am called by the child's father, Mrs. Martin, and I can not shirk my responsibility in this case."
"Please leave my house. I don't want you here," said Mrs. Martin, with an excitement almost hysterical. "I believe you are an impostor."
"I've often been called that," said Miss Bowyer, with a winning smile. "Used to it. One has to bear reproach and persecution in a Christian spirit for the sake of a good cause. You are only delaying the cure of your child, and perhaps risking his precious life."
"Henry," said Mrs. Martin, "I want you to send this woman away and get a doctor."
"Hannah, I'm the head of this family," said Martin, dropping his chin and looking ludicrously impressive. But as a matter of precaution he thought it best to leave the conflict to be fought out by Miss Bowyer. He feared that if he stayed he might find himself deposed from the only leadership that had ever fallen to his lot in life. So he executed a strategic move by quitting his breakfast half-finished and hurrying away to the shop.