Sandy Braden hesitated, but there was something in Pearl's compelling eyes that made him follow her.
They reached the grassy slope. Mrs. Cavers had made a pillow of her coat for his head, and was still bathing his face. The doctor hastily loosened the drunken man's clothing and listened to the beating of his heart. Its irregular pounding was unmistakable, it was making its last great fight.
Dr. Clay took out his hypodermic syringe and made an injection in Bill's arm. Bill stirred uneasily. "I don't—want—it—Bob," he said thickly. "I promised—the—missus. She's—with me—to-day."
Sandy Braden endeavoured to quiet Mrs. Cavers's fears.
"It's the heat, Mrs. Cavers," he said; "but it'll soon wear off—he'll be all right soon, won't he, Doc?"
The doctor made no reply, but listened again to the sick man's heart.
It was failing.
Mrs. Cavers, looking up, read the doctor's face.
She fell on the ground beside her husband, calling him every tender name as she rained kisses on his livid cheeks, uttering queer little cries like a wounded animal, but begging him always to live for her sake, and crying out bitterly that she could not give him up.
Sandy Braden, who had often seen men paralyzed with liquor, gently tried to take her away, assuring, her again that he would be all right soon. She noticed then for the first time who it was who had come with the doctor, and shaking off his hand, she sprang up and faced him, with blazing eyes that scorched into his very soul.
Sandy Braden put up his hand as if to ward off her fury.