Edward retired to the next room and sat down. He was genuinely disturbed, but even now could not realise that Bertha was dying--his mind was sluggish, and he was unable to imagine the future. A more emotional man would have been white with fear, his heart beating painfully and his nerves quivering with a hundred anticipated terrors. He would have been quite useless; while Edward was fit for any emergency--he could have been trusted to drive another ten miles in search of some appliance, and, with perfect steadiness, to help in any necessary operation. “You know,” he said to Dr. Ramsay, “I don’t want to get in your way; but if I should be any use in the room, you can trust me not to get flurried.” “I don’t think there’s anything you can do; the nurse is very trustworthy and capable.” “Women,” said Edward, “get so excited; they always make fools of themselves if they possibly can.” But the night air had made Craddock sleepy, and after half-an-hour in the chair, trying to read a book, he dozed off. Presently, however, he awoke, and the first light of day filled the room with a gray coldness. He looked at his watch. “By Jove, it’s a long job,” he said. There was a knock at the door, and the nurse came in. “Will you please come.” Dr. Ramsay met him in the passage. “Thank God, it’s over. She’s had a terrible time.” “Is she all right?” “I think she’s in no danger now--but I’m sorry to say we couldn’t save the child.” A pang went through Edward’s heart. “Is it dead?” “It was still-born. I was afraid it was hopeless. You’d better go to Bertha now--she wants you. She doesn’t know about the child.” Bertha was lying in an attitude of complete exhaustion: she lay on her back, with arms stretched in utter weakness by her sides. Her face was gray with past anguish, her eyes dull and lifeless, half closed; and her jaw hung almost as hangs the jaw of a corpse. She tried to form a smile as she saw Edward, but in her feebleness the lips scarcely moved. “Don’t try to speak, dear,” said the nurse, seeing that Bertha was attempting words. Edward bent down and kissed her, the faintest blush coloured her cheeks, and she began to cry; the tears stealthily glided down her cheeks. “Come nearer to me, Eddie,” she whispered. He knelt beside her, suddenly touched. He took her hand, and the contact had a vivifying effect; she drew a long breath, and her lips formed a weary, weary smile. “Thank God, it’s over,” she groaned, half whispering. “Oh, Eddie, darling, you can’t think what I’ve gone through.” “Well, it’s all over now.” “And you’ve been worrying too, Eddie. It encouraged me to think that you shared my trouble. You must go to sleep now. It was good of you to drive to Tercanbury for me.” “You mustn’t talk,” said Dr. Ramsay, coming back into the room, after seeing the specialist sent off. “I’m better now,” said Bertha, “since I’ve seen Eddie.” “Well, you must go to sleep.”