She was only a child--she was too tender; it was monstrous, he cried. Why, she was being torn to pieces! She writhed and quivered, until he thought she was in convulsions. And then, little by little, all this faded from his thoughts; he had his own pain to bear. He must hold her just so, with the grip of a wrestler; his arms ached, and his temples throbbed, and he fought with himself and whispered to himself--he would stay there until he dropped. Would the doctor never come? It was preposterous for him to leave her like this. The time passed on; he was wild with impatience, and suddenly Corydon sank back and burst into tears. He could stand it no more, and sent for the nurse again. “You must send for the doctor!” he cried. “He has just come in,” the woman answered; “I heard him close the door.” The doctor entered the room, softly. He was perfectly groomed, clad in evening-dress, and with his gloves and his silk hat in his hand. Thyrsis hated him at that moment--hated him with the fury of some tortured beast. He was only an assistant; and were not assistants notoriously careless? Why had the great surgeon himself not come to see to it? “How does she bear it?” he said, to the nurse; and he took off his overcoat and coat, and rolled up his sleeves, while she reported progress. Then he felt Corydon’s pulse, and after washing his hands, made another examination. Thyrsis watched him with his heart in his mouth. He rose without saying anything. “Has it presented?” the nurse asked. “Not yet,” he said, and turned to look at the temperature of the room. It was so, then--there was nothing to be done! Thyrsis was dazed--he could hardly believe it. He had never dreamed it could be anything like this. “How long is this to last, doctor?” he cried. “She is suffering so horribly!” “I fear it will be until morning,” he said--“it is a question of the rigidity of certain muscles. But you need not be alarmed, she is doing very well.” He spoke a few words to the patient, and then turned towards the door. “I shall sleep in the next room,” he said to his assistant; “you may call me at any time.” Section 8. So the two went apart again; and the leaden-footed hours crept by, and the girl still wrestled with the fiend. The young nurse was asleep on the couch, and the elder sat dozing in her chair; the two were alone--all alone! One of the window-shades was raised, and Thyrsis could see far over the tops of the buildings. Somewhere out there was another single light, where perhaps some other soul counted the fiery pulses of torture. A death--or another birth, perhaps! The doctor had said it happened twice every second! Thyrsis was unskilled in pain, and perhaps he bore it ill; he feared that the nurses thought so too--that Corydon called too often for something, or cried out too much in mere aimless misery.