“The young women of the present day aren’t half such good mothers as those I used to attend when I began practice,” he said discontentedly. “Their heads are stuffed with poetry, and such-like. They’re nervous and fanciful--and the upshot of it all is that babies have to be wet-nursed or brought up by hand. If I had the government of a model state I wouldn’t allow any married woman the run of a library until she had reared the last of her babies. What does a young married woman want with book-learning? She ought to have enough to do to look after her husband and her nursery.” Before the baby son was a fortnight old, fever supervened, and Isola’s state gave poor Mr. Baynham the keenest anxiety. A hospital nurse was sent for to assist the established custodian; and a great authority was brought over from Plymouth to approve the village doctor’s treatment, and to make a trifling alteration in a prescription, substituting bromide of sodium for bromide of potassium. Many days and nights of delirium followed the physician’s visit, a period in which the patient was watched at every hour of the day and night; and one of the most constant watchers through all that dreary time was Martin Disney. It was in vain that Allegra and the nurses urged him to consider his own health. He would consent only to leave the sick-room for briefest intervals of rest. Day after day, night after night, he sat in the same chair--an old-fashioned armchair, with projecting sides, which almost hid him from the patient--beside the bed. He was never in the way of the nurse. He was always helpful when a man’s help was needed. He was so quiet that it was impossible to object to his presence. He sat there like a statue of patience. No moan escaped his pallid lips; no tear stole down his haggard cheek. He sat and watched and waited for the issue, which was to make him happy, or desolate for ever. All his future was involved in that issue. He looked with a faint smile upon the pink little baby face, when they brought his son to him. No one would have dared to suggest that he should take care of himself and be comforted for that little one’s sake. They all knew that his firstborn was as nothing to him. All his hopes and all his fears were centred in the wife who lay upon yonder bed, with glassy eyes and babbling lips, a wanderer in a world full of torturing images--fountains of bubbling water which she longed to drink--great black serpents, which came crawling in at the window, and creeping nearer, nearer to her bed--wriggling, hideous forms that hemmed her in on every side--giant staircases that she was always trying to climb--mammoth caves in which she lost herself, fifty times bigger and more awful than those serpentine caverns near the Lizard, which she and Allegra had explored in the previous autumn--steeper, stonier than the tall cliffs and pinnacled rocks above Bedruthan sands.