I so painfully felt this helplessness, that in despair I fell on my knees, without having consciousness to whom my prayer was addressed. But firmly convinced, in that momentary hallucination, that my voice would be heard, I cried aloud: "Save her! Save her!" Then, in spite of myself, I experienced a glimmer of hope, I felt the consciousness of a duty fulfilled.
Later I blushed for what I called my weakness, my puerility.
Since my mind could not grasp, could not believe, the assertions which constitute the various human religions, what God was I imploring?
What power had succeeded in tearing from me this prayer, this last cry, this the last utterance of despair?
The crisis which the doctor feared did not take place.
Catherine is no better, but she is not worse, and yet her delirium continues.
Doctor Ralph's coldness towards me is still excessive.
Since her mother's illness, Irene has given frequent proofs of tenderness and feeling, which, though childlike, are serious and resolute like her character.
This morning she said to me: "My mother suffers very much, does she not?"
"Very much, my poor Irene."