All through the long hours of that day Dorothy watched by the sick
child. The child was on the Borderland. Her life hung in the balance--a
feather's weight on either side and she would go to the country from
which there is no return, or she would become well again. Dorothy's
efforts were directed to turning the balance in the scale toward life.
Notwithstanding all her care, however, and all the alleviations which
she used, the sick child suffered and moaned terribly. The awful state
of the throat, the terrible prostration caused by this form of blood
poisoning, were no light foes to have to beat and conquer. But unceasing
care presently produced a happy result, and toward evening the high
temperature went down a couple of degrees, and the child's breathing
became less difficult.
"I believe she will recover," said Dorothy, looking at Dr. Staunton,
who had just come into the room. "I hope you agree with me, doctor, in
thinking that she is rather better?"
"Yes," replied the doctor, "she is better; she is less feverish, and her
breathing is easier. You have done wonders already."
"What happy news for her poor mother! I am so glad that I can tell her
that the child is really better," said Dorothy. "I want to induce her to
give the little creature altogether into my care for the present, and
not to come near her again unless a change for the worse should set in.
I hear Mrs. Harvey stirring now in the next room, so she may be in at
any moment. May I speak to her, doctor? Do you give me leave to tell her
that her child is on the mend, and that you would rather she kept out of
the room?"
"I would do anything in the world to keep her out of the room," said the
doctor. "Yes, I give you full leave to say what you please. You would
have more influence with her than I should have. I am almost as great a
stranger to her as you are. Use your strongest influence, nurse--do what
you can. I believe in you. I am sure she will do the same."
"I'll go into the day nursery and wash my hands before I see Mrs.
Harvey," said Dorothy.
She was scarcely a moment away. In a couple of minutes she was standing
by Mrs. Harvey's bed.
Exhausted by her days and nights of watching, the tired-out mother had
slept all through the long hours of the day. She opened her eyes now
with a start. Healing sleep had done wonders for her--the dewy look of
youth had come back to her face; her beautiful blue eyes were fixed for
a moment on Dorothy with a puzzled expression of non-recognition.
"Where am I? What has happened?" she asked in a startled voice.
"You have just had a lovely sleep," said Dorothy. "You'll be all the
better for it."
"And who are you? I cannot quite collect my thoughts--I know something
has happened. Who are you? I cannot remember you."
"I am the nurse who is taking care of your dear little girl. She is
better."
"Oh, yes, now I remember," said Mrs. Harvey. She sat up in bed and
clasped her hands tightly.
"It was wrong of me to sleep so long," she said, "but I won't be a moment
getting dressed; I must go back to the child at once."
"Will you come to your room?" said Dorothy. "You can change your dress
there. I know Mr. Harvey is most anxious that you should dine with him
this evening."
"Dine with my husband!--have dinner? But Freda is ill; she is at death's
door."
"She is ill undoubtedly, but she is better; she is on the mend. I am
taking good care of her. Don't you trust me?"
"Oh, yes, I trust you; but I must go back to her. Don't talk to me of
dinner; I could not eat. Is it really evening? Oh, now I remember
everything--at last I remember! We have been in agony. We have lived
through such a week. We have been down in the depths, truly. Yes, yes, I
recollect it all--my little child, my only little child, my darling, my
treasure! Oh, nurse, you should not have allowed me to sleep on all day,
you should have called me; she may have been wanting me. But you say she
is better--better; but perhaps Dr. Staunton--oh, I am frightened! Are
you keeping anything from me? Oh, my head, my poor head! I shall go
mad; I shall lose my senses."
"No, dear Mrs. Harvey," said Dorothy; "I have good news for you, not
bad. Freda is really better--she is less feverish, and her throat does
not hurt her so badly. I don't pretend that she is yet out of danger,
but if she continues to improve as she has done during the last seven or
eight hours, she will be out of danger before long. Now I want you to
take care of yourself and to trust your child to me."
"Oh, I cannot give the child up to anyone. You must not keep me from her
another moment. I am not a bit hungry, but I'll have something to eat in
her room if you'll bring it to me. How awfully my darling must have
missed me!--she is such a child for her mother. Let me go to her at
once--my dear little treasure!"
"Dr. Staunton is very anxious that you should not go to her to-night."
"How can he dare to keep a mother from her child? Here, give me my
dress, will you? I tell you that nothing will keep me from the room. I
am sure you are deceiving me."
"Do you really think I would deceive you?" said Dorothy. "Before you
went to sleep you promised to trust me. Look at me now--look into my
eyes. I have nursed a great many sick children--I have seen many mothers
in agony--I have never deceived one. When the truth was good I have told
it; when it was bad I have also told it. I am not deceiving you, Mrs.
Harvey."
Poor Mrs. Harvey's dazed and frightened eyes gazed into Dorothy's strong
face. Its repose, its calm, impressed her. She was in an overstrung and
highly hysterical state. She burst into tears.
"I do trust you, nurse," she said, with a great sob. "I trust you, and
I bless you. I know my dear little one is better. Oh, thank God; thank
the great and good God! But, dear nurse, I must go to her. You are
tired, and I am quite rested and refreshed. I'll spend the night with
the child, and you can go to bed."
"No, dear madam; I cannot resign the care of the child to anyone. I am
using a certain remedy in the form of a spray which no one in this house
understands but me. If that remedy--which has made the child better--is
not continued unceasingly during the whole of this night, her throat
will get as bad as ever, and there will be no hope of her recovery. I
want you, Mrs. Harvey, to sleep to-night, and leave the child in my
care, I wish this, and the doctor wishes it, and I am sure, if you asked
your husband, he would tell you that he wished the same. You are not
required to do anything for little Freda, and it is your duty to take
care of yourself. If she gets worse, I promise to come for you--I
promise this, Mrs. Harvey. Now, will you go to your room and dress, and
then go downstairs and have some dinner? In the morning I expect to have
splendid news for you."
Mrs. Harvey clasped her hands in perplexity and uncertainty.
"It is dreadful to keep a mother from her child," she said; "and
yet--and yet----"
"And yet in this case it is right," said Dorothy. "You must remember
that you have not only Freda to think of. There is your husband,
and----"
"Oh, yes, I know; there is my poor little unhappy baby, but I cannot
love it as I love Freda."
"Still you owe it a duty. It is not right of you to do anything to risk
its life or your own. When it comes to you, you will see how dearly you
love it. Now, please, let me take you to your room."
"But may I not take one peep at my little treasure?"
"She is asleep just now, and you may wake her. Please let me take you to
your room."
Mrs. Harvey staggered to her feet.
"I trust you, nurse," she said, with a wistful sort of look. "You will
remember your promise?"
"I will; nothing in the world will make me go back from my word. Now,
come with me."
Dorothy led Mrs. Harvey away. They walked down the corridor together.
The nurse opened a baize door, which shut away the nurseries from the
rest of the house, and a moment later found herself standing in Mrs.
Harvey's luxurious bedroom. Her maid was there, and Dorothy asked her to
help her mistress to dress.
"What dress will you wear, madam?" asked the girl.
"Anything--it doesn't matter what," replied Mrs. Harvey.
"Yes, it matters a great deal," said Dorothy. "You ought to wear a
pretty dress; I think it is your duty to do so. You have got to think of
the Squire. Nothing will please him and reassure him more than to see
you coming down to dinner looking bright and pretty in one of your nice
dresses."
"Really, nurse, you amaze me"--began Mrs. Harvey, but then the shadow of
a smile crept into her eyes. "I don't think you would talk like that if
you did not really think Freda would get well," she exclaimed suddenly.
"My impression is that she will get well," replied Dorothy, "Now, please
put on one of your pretty dresses."
"That pink dress with the lace ruffles, Martin," said Mrs. Harvey,
turning to the maid. She got up as she spoke, walked across the room,
and put her arms round Dorothy's white neck.
"You are a very brave woman," she said. "You are someone to lean on. It
rests me to lean on you--I love you already."
"And I love you," said Dorothy in her simple, direct fashion. "God has
given you to me to take care of just now, and I fully believe that your
sweet little girl will be spared to you. Now, I see you are going to be
very brave and good yourself, and I'll go back to the child. I ought not
to be too long away from her."
All through the night that followed, the nurse persevered in the
remedies which were slowly but surely undermining the awful blood
poisoning. Slowly but surely, as the hours advanced, the fell disease
lost its power, the choking sensation grew less and less in the throat,
the horrible fungus-like membrane became absorbed, and the child,
exhausted, worn to a little shadow, dropped toward morning into a
peaceful and natural sleep.
"From my heart, I believe I have conquered," thought Dorothy. She sank
on her knees by the bedside. She felt worn-out herself. Never before had
she nursed a case like this. Never before had she gone through such a
hand-to-hand fight with death. The child was far gone when she arrived.
The diphtheria was particularly acute, and the poor little frame was
already terribly weakened by the sharp attack of scarlet fever.
"Another twelve hours, and nothing would have saved her," murmured
Dorothy. "Oh, I thank Thee, my God!--I thank Thee for this mercy! Oh,
what a joy it is to feel that I can give this child back to her mother!"
Dorothy remained by the bedside. Her head was bowed on her hands.
Someone touched her on her shoulder--she looked up, and met the keen
eyes of Dr. Staunton. He was looking dreadfully pale and tired himself.
"See," said Dorothy, rising and pointing to the child, "she is not
feverish now, she sleeps sweetly."
"She will recover," said the doctor. "Thank the Almighty!"
"I believe she will certainly recover," replied Dorothy.
"It is your doing, nurse."
"With God's blessing," she answered, bowing her head.
The doctor asked her one or two more questions.
"Now, the thing is, to keep up her strength," said Dorothy in
conclusion. "She must have every imaginable form of nourishment. But
that can be done, for I mean to undertake the management of her food
myself. Please, Dr. Staunton, will you tell Mrs. Harvey the good news
that her child is out of danger?"
"Yes," said the doctor; "but ought not that to be your own reward?"
"No, no; I don't want to go near her. I wish you to do all in your power
to keep her from the room. I believe that when she knows that her child
is really on the mend she will be guided by your wishes and those of her
husband. I have a kind of feeling,--I may be wrong, of course,--but I
have a kind of feeling that God will stay His hand in this matter, and
that the plague will not spread. Now, the thing is to think of the
mother. I suppose you will attend to her when her baby is born?"
"She has asked me to do so."
"Then, don't you think," said Dorothy, after a pause for
reflection,--"don't you think you might leave little Freda to me? I am
willing to be shut up in this part of the house with the child and one
of the maids, a girl called Rhoda, who has been most helpful to me
during the last twenty-four hours. If you are wanted, doctor, you are on
the spot; but, unless there is occasion, don't you think it would be
best for you not to come into this room?"
"It would be certainly the safest course as regards the mother," pursued
the doctor in a thoughtful tone. "You are a wonderful woman, nurse. I'll
go and consult the Squire."