His voice had the repressed despair of a surgeon, who is an enthusiast, too, opposed by a higher force. Under the test of his defeat her composure broke down. Confronted by a danger in which her interest was vivid and personal she—as the father had done before her—became agitated and unstrung.
"You must," she said. "Doctor, for Heaven's sake!"
He was trying still, but with scant success.
"I'm doing my best; it seems no good."
"You must save this life," she repeated.
"You will?"
"I tell you I can't do any more."
"You will—you shall!" she persisted wildly. The very passion of motherhood suffused her features. "Doctor, it is his child!"
He looked at her—their gaze met, even then. It was only in a flash. Abruptly the gasps of the dying baby became horrible to witness. The eyeballs rolled hideously, and seemed as if they would spring from their sockets. The tiny chest heaved and fell in agonising efforts to gain air, while in its convulsive battle against suffocation the frail body almost lifted itself from the mattress.
"Go away," said the man; "there's nothing you can do."