“Come this way.” Tarbot opened the door. The two passed beyond the screen. The room was no longer dark—it was lit up with brilliance.
Pelham and Nurse Ives were both standing by the bed. When Pelham saw Barbara he uttered a cry. Nurse Ives looked at the doctor and nodded to him to come forward.
In the bed lay a little figure perfectly motionless, and as if carved in marble.
CHAPTER VII.
THE CAUSE OF DEATH.
Barbara tried to hurry forward, but Tarbot pushed her aside. He bent over the child and examined him carefully. The boy was absolutely unconscious and icy cold. He looked exactly like one dead. Was he dead? Barbara’s heart beat so hard that she fancied it must be heard. She had never seen death before. Did it look like that?—was there always that absence of all movement, that queer gray look on the face? Already it seemed to Barbara that she scarcely knew little Piers.
Tarbot did not speak for a moment; then he turned to the nurse.
“How long has the boy been in this state?”
“Not long—about a quarter of an hour.”
“Tell me what occurred.”
Barbara, scarcely able to control herself, had walked to the window. She now came forward and stood at the foot of the bed. Pelham had placed himself close to the little motionless figure, and once or twice his hand touched the boy’s clustering dark curls. Nurse Ives faced the doctor. She held herself erect. The electric light lit up each feature. Her harsh face, her red hair, her pale blue eyes, and the ugly red scar across her forehead were all distinctly visible.