Daunt lay perfectly quiet, his restless hand still. An orderly was changing the phials upon the glass-topped table and nodded to them.
Lois darted a quick glance at the face on the pillow, and her own changed. A stealthy fear crept over her. Margaret’s head was turned away toward the cot. How should she tell her? How let her know that subtle change of the last few hours that her own trained eye noted? How let out for her the strenuous agony that waited in that room? The pitiful unconsciousness of evil in the graceful posture went through her with a start of anguish.
The soft footfall of the visiting surgeon drew near, and with swift prescience she moved close to Margaret. He bent over the figure in rapid professional inquiry and consulted the chart, nodding his head as he tabulated his observations in a running, semi-audible comment.
“H—m! well-developed septic fever. Delirium comes on at night, you say, nurse. Eh? H—m! Pulse very rapid and stringy—hurried and shallow breathing—eyes dull, with inequality of pupils. H—m! Face flushed—lips blue—extremities cold. Lips and teeth covered with sordes—typical case. H—m! Complete lethargy—clammy sweat—face assuming a hippocratic type. Temperature sub-normal. H—m! Yes. Nurse, please preserve all notes of this case. It’s interesting. Very. Like to see it in the ‘Record.’”
“What are the probabilities, doctor?” It was the sentence. Lois’s lips were trembling, and she put a hand on Margaret’s arm.
“Probabilities? H—m! Give him about twelve hours and that’s generous. Never any hope in a case of this kind. Why, the man’s dying now. Look at his face.”
A piteous, chalky whiteness swept like a wave over Margaret’s cheeks, but she had made no sound. When the doctor was quite gone, she swerved a little on her feet, as though her limbs had weakened, and her lips opened and shut voicelessly, as if whispering to herself. Lois dreaded a cry, but there was none; she only shut her eyes, and covered her poor face, gone suddenly pinched and pallid, with her two hands.
“Wait, Margaret.” Lois held out a hand whose professional coolness was touched with an unwonted tremor. “Wait a moment, dear.” She ran to the hall to see that no one was in sight. Then running back and putting her arm around Margaret’s shoulders, she led her, blind and unresisting, to the stair.