“Mother! Never mind, mother!” Hugh was beginning to say; but he stopped when he saw her face,—it was so very pale and grave. At least, he thought so; but he saw her only by fire-light; for the candle had been shaded from his eyes, because he could not bear it. She kissed him with a long, long kiss; but she did not speak.
“I wish the surgeon had come first,” he whispered, “and then they would have had my foot off before you came. When will he come?”
“He is here,—they are both here.”
“Oh, then, do make them make haste. Mr Tooke says I shall go to sleep afterwards. You think so? Then we will both go to sleep, and have our talk in the morning. Do not stay now,—this pain is so bad,—I can’t bear it well at all. Do go, now, and bid them make haste, will you?”
His mother whispered that she heard he had been a brave boy, and she knew he would be so still. Then the surgeons came up, and Mr Shaw. There was some bustle in the room, and Mr Shaw took his sister down-stairs, and came up again, with Mr Tooke.
“Don’t let mother come,” said Hugh.
“No, my boy, I will stay with you,” said his uncle.
The surgeons took off his foot. As he sat in a chair, and his uncle stood behind him, and held his hands, and pressed his head against him, Hugh felt how his uncle’s breast was heaving,—and was sure he was crying. In the very middle of it all, Hugh looked up in his uncle’s face, and said,—
“Never mind, uncle! I can bear it.”
He did bear it finely. It was far more terrible than he had fancied; and he felt that he could not have gone on a minute longer. When it was over, he muttered something, and Mr Tooke bent down to hear what it was. It was—