"Just weakness, you understand! Her exhaustion when she came out of the chloroform was extreme, but every moment now is in our favour. Children have such extraordinary recuperative power."
He was speaking in the usual cheery tones of the bedside optimist. I raised my head.
"Tell me straight, Sir James—will the child live?"
The old man's grip on my shoulder tightened just for a moment, and when he spoke it was in an entirely unprofessional voice.
"Thanks to two of the bravest and most devoted of women," he said, "I think she will."
I dropped my head into my hands.
"Please God!" I murmured brokenly.
"Of course," he continued, "anything may happen yet. But the way in which she has been cared for by my good friend here——"
"No, no," said Farquharson. "Give the credit to those that deserve it. I just afforded ordinary professional assistance. It was your wife and her sister, Mr Inglethwaite, that pulled the child through. She has had tight hold of a hand of one of them ever since ten o'clock last night."
"Yes," said Sir James; "I think it will be found that their nursing has just made the difference. You had better give him something, Farquharson."