CHING LING’S PASSPORT.
BY MRS. HARRIET A. CHEEVER.
“And you say there is no hope!”
“None whatever, that we can see.”
“But I am barely five-and-thirty, Doctor. Only think! still in my early prime,” urged the pleading voice.
“I know it, Fairfax; I know it, my poor fellow; and would thankfully have it otherwise, but God wills it so. I cannot deceive you, and your special request was to know the truth.”
“But Heaven knows I was unprepared for it!” was the passionate rejoinder.
“Try and calm yourself, my friend,” continued the doctor in low, deliberate tones. “I’ve still another unwelcome piece of intelligence: Mrs. Carter says she can remain no longer, feeling as she does, completely worn out with her duties; and just now, with so many critical cases on my hands, I hardly know where to look for another nurse. You say there is no friend or relative you could summon?”
“No; and it makes no sort of difference who comes in Mrs. Carter’s place; I might as well die alone like a dog, if I’ve got to hand in my checks at the outset of the game–confound this heat!” and the voice even more than the words was full of bitterness and rebellion.