He now entered Eudora’s cell, and stood for a moment silently regarding her as she lay with her face turned down and hidden in the pillow, cold, pallid, collapsed, and shuddering.
Then beckoning Mrs. Barton to the door of the cell, he questioned her minutely as to the state of mind and frame that had preceded this asphyxia of the sufferer.
And the careful wardress described the girlish terrors of Eudora, and ended by saying:
“You can’t expect a mere child like that to face quietly what makes the hardest men quail. Besides, doctor, we women cre’turs are ten thousand times worse afeard of being hurt nor we are of being killed. I am pretty nigh sure as it isn’t the fear of death as has brought her to this state, but the horror of the violent death as is always afore her.”
The doctor having learned all that he wished to know for his own guidance in this case, returned to the cell, seated himself beside the sufferer, took her hand, and said, gently:
“Look up, poor child, and let me see your face. I can do you good, though you may not yet believe it.”
The deep-toned, tender, sympathetic voice of the Christian physician fell like balm upon the bruised heart of the victim, and caused her to turn her wasted face and anguished eyes to meet the compassionate gaze and benignant countenance that was bent upon her in such deep commiseration.
“I can relieve your acute sufferings, Eudora. I can scatter all your terrors and give you ease,” he repeated.
“Oh, can you change what is before me? Can you snatch me away from this doom, as you would rouse one up from a horrid nightmare? If you cannot do this you can do nothing for me!” she cried.
“I cannot change your fate, Eudora, but I can disarm it of its terrors,” he answered, very gently.