The nurse arrived, bringing new apprehension. She was an old woman who, for twenty years, had helped the neighbouring gentry into the world; and she had a copious store of ghastly anecdote. In her mouth the terrors of birth were innumerable, and she told her stories with a cumulative art that was appalling. Of course, in her mind, she acted for the best; Bertha was nervous, and the nurse could imagine no better way of reassuring her than to give detailed accounts of patients who for days had been at death’s door, given up by all the doctors, and yet had finally recovered. Bertha’s quick invention magnified the coming anguish till, for thinking of it, she could hardly sleep. The impossibility even to conceive it rendered it more formidable; she saw before her a long, long agony, and then death. She could not bear Edward to be out of her sight. “Why, of course you’ll get over it,” he said. “I promise you it’s nothing to make a fuss about.” He had bred animals for years and was quite used to the process which supplied him with veal, mutton, and beef, for the local butchers. It was a ridiculous fuss that human beings made over a natural and ordinary phenomenon. “Oh, I’m so afraid of the pain. I feel certain that I shan’t get over it--it’s awful. I wish I hadn’t got to go through it.” “Good heavens,” cried the doctor, “one would think no one had ever had a baby before you.” “Oh, don’t laugh at me. Can’t you see how frightened I am! I have a presentiment that I shall die.” “I never knew a woman yet,” said Dr. Ramsay, “who hadn’t a presentiment that she would die, even if she had nothing worse than a finger-ache the matter with her.” “Oh, you can laugh,” said Bertha. “I’ve got to go through it.” Another day passed, and the nurse said the doctor must be immediately sent for. Bertha had made Edward promise to remain with her all the time. “I think I shall have courage if I can hold your hand,” she said. “Nonsense,” said Dr. Ramsay, when Edward told him this, “I’m not going to have a man meddling about.” “I thought not,” said Edward, “but I just promised, to keep her quiet.” “If you’ll keep yourself quiet,” answered the doctor, “that’s all I shall expect.” “Oh, you needn’t fear about me. I know all about these things--why, my dear doctor, I’ve brought a good sight more living things into the world than you have, I bet.” Edward, calm, self-possessed, unimaginative, was the ideal person for an emergency. “There’s no good my knocking about the house all the afternoon,” he said. “I should only mope, and if I’m wanted I can always be sent for.” He left word that he was going to Bewlie’s Farm to see a sick cow, about which he was very anxious. “She’s the best milker I’ve ever had. I don’t know what I should do if anything went wrong with her. She gives her so-many pints a day, as regular as possible. She’s brought in over and over again the money I gave for her.”