Mr. Pym knew that the child must die: it had required but one moment's glance to see that the angel of death was already on the wing, but to say this to Mrs. St. John might be neither kind nor expedient. He was beginning some evasive reply, when she stopped him peremptorily.
"I sent for you to know the truth, and you must tell it me. Must George die?"
That she was in no mood to be trifled with, the surgeon saw. To attempt it might not be wise. Besides, the signs on George's face were such this day, that she must see what the truth was as clearly as he saw it.
"I think him very ill, Mrs. St. John. He is in danger."
"That is not a decisive answer yet. Can't you give me one?--you have come far enough to do it. Will he die?"
"I fear he will."
"He has gone too far to recover? He will shortly----"
A momentary pause, but she recovered instantly. "A few hours will see the end?"
"I do not say that. A few days will no doubt see it."
Mrs. St. John looked across at the handless clock, as if asking why it did not go on. The surgeon glanced at her face, and was thankful for its composure. She resumed: