No, nobody could, without medical skill and appliances. The utmost that the house could do was to produce enough mustard to make two plasters, and to fill bottles with hot water, to warm stones, and to wrap them in blankets. And what was this, in such cold as penetrated the wooden building, too high up in the mountains for the June sun as yet to have full power? The snow kept blinding and drifting on, and though everyone said it could not last long at that time in the summer, it might easily last too long for Armine’s fragile life. Here was evening drawing on and no change outside, so that no offer of reward could make it possible for any messenger to attempt the Gemmi to fetch advice from Leukerbad. Caroline could not think. She was in a dull, dreary state of consternation, and all she could dwell on was the immediate need of the moment, soothing Jock’s terrors, and, what was almost worse, his irritable rejection of the beverages she could offer him, and trying to relieve him by rubbing and hot applications. If ever she could look into Armine’s room, she was filled with still greater dismay, even though a sweet, patient smile always met her, and a resolute endeavour to make the best of it. “It--does--not--make--much--difference,” gasped Armine. “One would not like anything.” John came out in a character no one could have expected. He showed himself a much better nurse, and far more full of resource than the traveller. It was he who bethought him of keeping a kettle in the room over the inevitable charcoal, so as slightly to mitigate the chill of the air, or the fumes of the charcoal, which were equally perilous and distressing to the labouring lungs. He was tender and handy in lifting, tall and strong, so as to be efficient in supporting, and then Armine and he understood one another. They had never been special companions; John had too much of the Kencroft muscularity about him to accord with a delicate, imaginative being like Armine, but they respected one another, and made common cause, and John had more than once been his little cousin’s protector. So when they were so much alone that all reserves were overcome, Armine had comfort in his cousin that no one else in the place could have afforded him. The little boy perfectly knew how ill he was, and as he lay in John’s arms, breathed out his messages to Babie as well as he could utter them. “And please, you’ll be always mother’s other son,” said Armine. “Won’t I? She’s been the making of me every way,” said John. “If ever--she does want anybody--” said Armine, feeling, but not uttering, a vague sense of want of trust in others around her. “I will, I will. Why, Armie, I shall never care for any one so much.” “That’s right.” And again, after an interval, Armine spoke of Jock, saying, “You’ll help him, Johnny. You know sometimes he can be put in mind--” John promised again, perhaps less hopefully, but he saw that Armine hoped.