Even then the skilful hands would not yield the battle. They persevered with artificial respiration. They tried every means, until the truth had to be faced. There was nothing more they could do. They must lay down the poor little buffeted body and let it sleep.
This is always a terrible moment for doctors and nurses, and it was with a face quivering with emotion that Sister Warwick left Margaret Carden to the sacred work of tending the little lifeless form, and, leading the poor young mother to her room, took up the harder task of trying to help her in the first bitterness of her grief.
Half-stunned with what had happened, the man sat in the shadows beyond the range of the light from the fire and lamp, and followed with his eyes the movements of the nurse as she went to and fro.
Let us hope that he was not realising the fact that his tardy consent had perhaps cost the child its life.
Mr. H—— laid a kind hand on his shoulder once, with a hearty—
"I am awfully sorry for you;" and he murmured something by way of answer. Then he rose—still half-dazed—to meet his wife who was coming out of Sister's room.
They stood side by side, holding each other's hands—like the children they almost were—and looked long at the sleeping baby.
Nurse Carden had taken the buttercups and grasses from one of the vases on the ward table, and the little fingers were folded round the stalks.
The inexplicable peace of the presence of death stole into the hearts of the poor young parents, and they went quietly away with bowed heads, sharing and bearing together their first real grief.
"Good night, Sister!"