“Oh, thank you! thank you a thousand times for coming! But do you think you can do anything for him! Oh, see! he takes no notice even of a stranger coming into the room! he does not even know me!” exclaimed Annella, taking her visitor by the hand, and drawing her closely to the bedside, while she pointed to the suffering man, over whose face the gray shadows of death were already creeping.
Eudora saw that this case was not only beyond her skill, but beyond that of the most skilful physician. Yet she could not find it in her heart to communicate this grievous truth to the child whose soft, dark eyes were fixed so beseechingly upon her face.
“Have you any stimulant in the house—any hartshorn, or even eau-de-cologne?”
It was almost mockery to ask for any article of comfort in a place where the common necessaries of life seemed wanting. And so Eudora felt it to be when poor Annella shook her head, and then burst into tears.
“Do not weep, dear; the doctor will be here in a moment, and he will send the proper remedies immediately,” said Eudora, who had taken up and was briskly rubbing the icy hand of the sufferer.
Annella followed her example with the other hand, which she chafed with the hot tears that fell fast from her eyes.
The moment after footsteps were heard upon the stairs, and the landlady and the doctor entered.
The latter immediately stepped to the side of the bed, from which Eudora and Annella retired to give him place.
The doctor took up the hand that Eudora had relinquished, and held it for about a minute with his finger on the pulse. Then he softly laid it down again, and stood with his eyes fixed in grave contemplation upon the stiffening face before him. The landlady drew near in awe.
“Remove his unhappy daughter from the room. The man has ceased to suffer,” said the doctor, in a low tone, yet not so low but that its import struck the heart of Annella, who rushed to the bedside, gazed wildly upon the fixed features of her father, and then seizing the doctor’s hand, exclaimed: