Not till the man had gone, however, was everything related to her. She was sitting at the extremity of the ward, sewing, shortly to be free for the night. It was the hour when the quiet of the hospital deepened into the hush that preluded the extinction of the patients' lights. The supper-trays had long since been removed from the bedsides. Through the apertures of curtain, a few patients, loath to waive the privilege while they held it, were to be seen reading books and magazines; others were asleep already, and even the late-birds of the ward who dissipated in wheel-chairs, to the envy of the rest, had made their final excursion for the day. The Major had stopped his chair to utter his last wish for "a comfortable night, sir." The chess champion had concluded his conquest on a recumbent adversary's quilt. Where breakfast comes at six o'clock, grown men resume some of the customs of their infancy, and the day that begins so early closes soon. It was very peaceful, very still; and she was sitting in the lamp-rays, sewing.
She looked round as the Matron joined her. It was known that the case interested her, and in subdued tones they spoke of it.
"How is he?"
"He's been dreadfully bad. The worst took place before the father left; Dr. Kincaid had to come up."
"What?—tell me!"
"He had to perform tracheotomy. The father was there all the time; Dr. Kincaid told him what was going to be done, but he wouldn't go. The child was blue in the face and there wasn't any stopping to argue. When the cut in the throat was made and the tube put in, I thought the man was going to faint. He was standing just by me. 'Good God! Is this an experiment?' he said. I told him it was the only way for the child to breathe, but he didn't seem to hear me. And when the fit of coughing came—oh, my goodness! You know what the coughing's like?"
"Go on!"
"He made sure it was all over; he burst out sobbing, and the doctor ordered him out of the room. 'If you're fond of your child, keep quiet here, sir,' he said, 'or go and compose yourself outside!' I think he was sorry he'd spoken so sternly afterwards, though he was quite right, for——"
"Oh!" shuddered Mary. "Did you see him again?"
"Yes; I told him he'd had no business to stop. He said, 'If the worst happens, I shall think it right I was there.' I said he must try to believe that only the best would happen now; though whether I ought to have said it I don't know. When it comes to tracheotomy in diphtheria, the child's chance is slim. Still, this one's as fine a little chap as ever I saw; he's got the strength of many a pair we get here—and the man was in such a state. He's coming back to-night—he's to see me, anyhow; he had to hurry off to the theatre to act. I can't imagine how he'll get through."