Presently Papineau arrived with his dogs and took his wife home. The good lady had looked upon the doctor’s cutting with profound disfavor. A suggestion of hers about herbs had been treated with scant respect. Before leaving she spoke to Madge.
“I stay h’all night too––but it ain’t no good, because if he lif to-morrow night den you go sleep an’ I stay ’ere. Before I go to bed I prays moch. I––I ’opes he lif through de night––heem no more bad as heem was, anyvays, an’ dat someting.”
So they went away sorrowfully, to the little new-born calf and the babies and the children who needed them, and Stefan sat on the floor with his back to the wall, while Maigan snuggled up against him.
Dr. Starr remained all night, sometimes dozing a little on his chair, with the ability of the man often called at night to take little 255 snatches of sleep here and there, but Madge was at all times wide awake. Some time after midnight Hugo appeared to be sleeping quietly. The valuable candles had been extinguished, of course, but the little lamp was burning, shaded on one side by a piece of birch bark. Stefan had gradually curled up on the floor, under the table, where he was out of the way, and was snoring lustily. In the morning, doubtless, he would most honestly insist that he had not slept an instant. Out of doors the Swede’s dogs had dug holes in the snow and, with sensitive noses covered by their bushy tails, were awaiting in slumber the next call from their master. The great falls kept up their moan and the trees swayed and cracked. A wind-borne branch, falling on the roof, made a sudden racket that was startling.
At frequent intervals Madge rose and gave Hugo some water, for which he always seemed grateful, or adjusted the pillow beneath his head. Once, when she sat down again, she saw the doctor’s eyes fixed upon her, gravely.
“You have the necessary instinct,” he told her, “and the patience and perseverance. I don’t know what your plans may be for the future, but you would make a good nurse.”
Madge shrugged her shoulders, the tiniest bit. She didn’t know. It didn’t matter what she was fit for. The world so far had been a failure. The only important thing before her now was to do her best to help pull the sick man out of the jaws of death, if it could possibly be done. She sat down again, and after a time that seemed like an age the utter blackness without began to turn to gray and, in spite of the constantly replenished stove, the chill of the early morning struck deep into her. As the doctor looked at his watch she rose and began to make tea, which comforted them.
“Do you expect to keep on looking after this man?” the doctor asked her, abruptly, between two mouthfuls.
“Yes, of course, if I may,” she answered.