CHAPTER VIII.
THE RUSTLE OF ANGELS' WINGS.
When daylight came, they carried Mary down to her own pretty room and did all that science and love could suggest to relieve her sufferings; but in spite of everything, the child grew steadily worse; and the Doctor was at last obliged to admit that double pneumonia had set in.
"You had better bring the babies to her for a few minutes," he said to his sister. "She has a very high fever and is liable to become delirious. A peep at the twins will satisfy her and perhaps ease her mind later on."
"Sweet—darling—" Mary murmured as the babies were held up before her. "Soon—again?"
"Yes, pet, Mother will bring them to see you very often. Try to sleep now," urged her uncle.
Oh, the long, long days and nights of suffering and grief and anxiety. Though the twins were the delight of the household, they had not been members of the family long enough to twine themselves about the hearts of all as had the dear little girl who was never happier than when making others happy. The servants vied with one another to do her some little service. Old Susie surpassed herself with her delicious broths and gelatines over which she spent more time than she did on the meals for the family; Liza hurried with her other duties so as to be able to devote more time to the babies and leave Aunt Mandy free to help Sister Julia; Tom sat by day and night on the top step of the stairs, ready to run errands,—a task which, by the way, he had always disliked. Even Debby, who had known the little girl less than two months, almost sobbed aloud at sight of the wan little face framed in a mass of golden hair. Indeed, so blinded was she by her tears, that she stumbled about and upset so many things that Sister Julia gently took her dust cloth from her and finished putting the room in order. As for the father, mother, and uncle, Mrs. Selwyn's words just after her brother had told them the dreaded truth, will best express the thoughts that filled their minds.
"Perhaps it is wrong to feel as I do, Rob,—that it would be far easier to lose both of our babies than our little Mary."
"You are merely speaking the thought that is in all our hearts, Elizabeth, and it is only natural that we should feel as we do. In one sense, the babies are just as dear to us as Mary is; but they have not yet entered into our very life as she has done by her own winning ways. So, if she is taken from us, we shall miss her far more than we should either, or even both, of the twins. I doubt whether Berta or Beth could ever quite fill the void which her loss would cause in our lives. But we shall not think of that now. Let us hope for the best and pray that, if it be God's will, our darling may be spared to us. We can trust Frank to see that everything possible is done for her."
"Poor Frank! He could not love her better if she were his own child. I have telephoned to Sister Florian to ask the prayers of the Sisters and pupils, and, of course, I called Maryvale early this morning. Mary asked me to let her know Frank's decision."