"You know how clever and wise he is, Phra. We must trust him. He knows what is best."
Phra groaned, and sank down despairingly in a chair; but he started up again directly.
"Shall I fetch my father? He is very wise about snake-bites. He would come for Hal."
"He could do nothing," said the doctor gravely. "Be silent, please; I am doing everything that is possible."
Phra frowned on hearing the imperative way in which the doctor spoke, but he did not resent it. He merely went on tip-toe to the head of the couch, and knelt down there, watching every movement on Harry's part, though these were few.
From time to time the doctor administered ammonia, but it seemed to have not the slightest effect: the swelling went on; the skin of the boy's arm grew of a livid black; and the mutterings of delirium made the scene more painful.
And so three hours passed away, with no sign of Mr. Kenyon, no token given that the danger was nearly passed.
Every one was indefatigable, striving the best to render Harry's sufferings lighter; but all seemed in vain, and at last, as she read truly the look of despair in her husband's face, every palliative he administered seeming to be useless, Mrs. Cameron, after fighting hard to keep back her grief, threw herself upon her knees by the side of the couch, and burst into a hysterical fit of sobbing.
This was too much for Phra, who, to hide his own feelings, hurried out into the garden, unable as he was to witness Mrs. Cameron's sufferings unmoved.
And now in his utter despair the doctor made no effort to check his wife's loud sobs, feeling as he did that they could do no harm; and after attending to his patient again, he was about to walk to the window to try and think whether there was anything else that he could do, when to his astonishment Harry opened his eyes, stared round vacantly, and said in sharp tones,—