The coachman arrived from down-town now with the news that our physician
was ill and confined to his bed. Mrs. McWilliams turned a dead eye upon
me, and said in a dead voice:
"There is a Providence in it. It is foreordained. He never was sick
before. Never. We have not been living as we ought to live, Mortimer.
Time and time again I have told you so. Now you see the result. Our
child will never get well. Be thankful if you can forgive yourself; I
never can forgive myself."
I said, without intent to hurt, but with heedless choice of words, that I
could not see that we had been living such an abandoned life.
"Mortimer! Do you want to bring the judgment upon Baby, too!"
Then she began to cry, but suddenly exclaimed:
"The doctor must have sent medicines!"
I said:
"Certainly. They are here. I was only waiting for you to give me a
chance."
"Well do give them to me! Don't you know that every moment is precious
now? But what was the use in sending medicines, when he knows that the
disease is incurable?"
I said that while there was life there was hope.
"Hope! Mortimer, you know no more what you are talking about than the
child unborn.
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