“I—I won’t!” began the child. He looked away, then he looked again; soon he looked steadily, his own eyes full of fear. Gradually the fear went out of them, the eyes became fixed and strained. The nurse sat in such a position that the boy had to look up a little as he gazed at her. Meanwhile she stroked his forehead gently, calmly. Soon a change came over the face, the eyelids closed, the color left cheeks and lips; the nurse put her finger and thumb on the little wrist—the pulse had apparently ceased to beat. “It’s all right,” she said to herself. “I didn’t study under Dr. Weismann in Paris for nothing. Ha! ha! my dear Doctor Tarbot, you think I am your tool, but how do you know that I shall not turn the tables on you? Poison this boy, indeed—not I! I mean to save him, poor little fellow! I shall save him, and win you. I shall feather my own nest, and hold such a weapon against you that you will be in my power for the rest of your life. You made a mistake when you asked a woman as wise as I am to assist you. “Can I ever forget the day when Dr. Weismann performed a similar experiment on a young man in the hospital, and then called in the most eminent physicians to examine him; didn’t they one and all pronounce him dead? You are not cleverer than Dr. Weismann, or the other great Paris savants. I am your match. You will rue the day you consulted me.” The nurse laughed softly to herself. Meanwhile she watched the patient. The child looked no longer like a patient; he looked no longer like any living creature—the pallor of death was on his forehead. To all appearance he had ceased to breathe. Nurse Ives sat motionless by his side for a couple of hours. At the end of that time she went up to a wicker-work trunk which stood in a corner of the room. It was a trunk of somewhat novel shape, being longer than those usually employed. She opened it, and took out an electrical apparatus. She put this in order, and applied a powerful current to the child, placing one pole at the side of the neck, and the other over the heart. In a few moments little Piers opened his eyes slowly, and gazed up at his nurse with a tranquil expression. “I have had a nice sleep,” he said. She smiled at him, bent forward, and kissed him. “You must have some nourishment before you go to sleep again,” she said. She put away the electrical apparatus, returning it to its place in her wicker-work trunk. She then heated some beef-tea and brought it to the child’s bedside. “Drink it off, dear,” she said. The child drank it greedily. “You did put me into a nice sleep,” he exclaimed. “Yes, am I not a wonderful woman? Now go to sleep again, little one, and I will sit by you. But listen to me, Piers—you are not to tell anybody about my secret.” “What secret?” asked the boy. “The beautiful way in which I put you to sleep.” “Would you rather I didn’t?” “I should be very, very angry if you did. You must not disobey me. Do you promise?”