As the day began to wane, Aoi, thoroughly alarmed, summoned the village doctor; a very old and learned man he was considered. He felt the woman’s hands, listened to her breathing with his ear against her lips. Very cold her hands were, but her breathing was regular, though faint.
The doctor looked grave, solemn, and wise. He shook his bald head ominously.
“How long has the honorable one been thus?”
“Since early morn, sir doctor. She awoke from her night sleep only to fall into this condition.”
“The woman has but a short space of life left to her,” said the doctor, solemnly.
Aoi trembled.
“Her people—” she began, falteringly. “Oh, good sir doctor, it is very, very sad. So young! Ah, so beautiful!”
Seeming not to share or understand Aoi’s sympathy, the doctor gathered up his instruments and simples slowly, meanwhile glancing uneasily towards the face of the sick woman. He turned suddenly to Aoi.
“Madame,” he said, “the village sympathizes with you at the infliction placed upon you by this enforced guest, but—”
“You do not finish, sir doctor?”