Fashion -- 19th century -- Periodicals; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Women's periodicals, American
Thus passed the hours until twelve, one, and two o'clock, the mother
feeling that her child was too sick for her to seek repose, and yet, as
she could do nothing to relieve her sufferings, she could not sit idly
by and look upon her. For fifteen or twenty minutes at a time she would
ply her needle, and then get up and bend over the bed for a minute or
two. A thought of duty would again call her back to her position by
the work-table, where she would again devote herself to her task, in
spite of an aching head, and a reluctant, over-wearied body. Thus she
continued until near daylight, when there was an apparent subsidence
of Ella's most painful symptoms. The child ceased to moan and throw
herself about, and finally sunk into slumber. In some relief of mind,
Mrs. Gaston laid down beside her upon the bed, and in a little while
was fast asleep. When she awoke, the sun had been up some time, and was
shining brightly into the room. Quickly rising, her first glance was
towards her sick child. She could scarcely suppress a cry of agony as
she perceived that her face and neck had swollen so as to appear puffed
up, while her skin was covered with livid spots. An examination of the
chest and stomach showed that these spots were extending themselves
over her whole body. Besides these signs of danger, the breathing of
the child was more like gasping, as she lay with her mouth half opened.
The mother laid her hand upon her arm, and spoke to her. But she did
not seem to hear the voice.
"Ella, dear! how do you feel this morning?" repeated Mrs. Gaston in
louder and more earnest tones.
But the child heeded her not. She was already past consciousness! At an
early hour Doctor R---- came in. The moment he looked at his patient
his countenance fell. Still, he proceeded to examine her carefully. But
every symptom was alarming, and indicated a speedy fatal termination;
this was especially the case with the upper part of the throat, which
was black. Nothing deeper could be seen, as the tonsils were so swollen
as to threaten suffocation.
"Is there any hope, doctor?" asked Mrs. Gaston eagerly, laying her hand
upon his arm as he turned from the bed.
"There is always hope where there is life, madam," he replied
abstractedly, and then in a thoughtful mood took two or three turns
across the narrow apartment.
"I will come again in an hour," he at length said, "and see if there
is any change. I would rather not give her any more medicine for the
present. Let her remain perfectly quiet."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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