She refused to stir. She appealed to him frantically.
"Help him!" she stammered.
"There's no way."
"You, the doctor, tell me there's no way?"
"None."
"But I know there is a way," she cried; "I can suck that tube!"
"Mary! My God! it might kill you!"
She flung forward, but the conflict ceased as he pulled her back. A small quantity of the mucus had been dislodged by the paroxysm that it had produced. Nature had done—imperfectly, but still done—what science had failed to effect. The boy breathed.
The outbreak was followed by complete exhaustion, and again it seemed that life was extinct. Kincaid assured himself that it lingered still, and turned to her gravely.
"You were about to do a wicked, and a foolish thing. After what it has gone through, nothing under Heaven can save the child; you ought to know as much as that. At best you could only hope to prolong life for two or three hours."