Pelham and Nurse Ives were both standing by the bed. When Pelham saw Barbara he uttered a cry. Nurse Ives looked at the doctor and nodded to him to come forward. In the bed lay a little figure perfectly motionless, and as if carved in marble. CHAPTER VII. THE CAUSE OF DEATH. Barbara tried to hurry forward, but Tarbot pushed her aside. He bent over the child and examined him carefully. The boy was absolutely unconscious and icy cold. He looked exactly like one dead. Was he dead? Barbara’s heart beat so hard that she fancied it must be heard. She had never seen death before. Did it look like that?—was there always that absence of all movement, that queer gray look on the face? Already it seemed to Barbara that she scarcely knew little Piers. Tarbot did not speak for a moment; then he turned to the nurse. “How long has the boy been in this state?” “Not long—about a quarter of an hour.” “Tell me what occurred.” Barbara, scarcely able to control herself, had walked to the window. She now came forward and stood at the foot of the bed. Pelham had placed himself close to the little motionless figure, and once or twice his hand touched the boy’s clustering dark curls. Nurse Ives faced the doctor. She held herself erect. The electric light lit up each feature. Her harsh face, her red hair, her pale blue eyes, and the ugly red scar across her forehead were all distinctly visible. Barbara shuddered as she looked at her. Was it possible that a woman like that had attended the sweet little child during his last hours? The girl found herself shivering from head to foot. “Tell me how this happened, nurse,” said Tarbot in a gentle voice. “As you know, doctor,” said the nurse, “the child has been subject to bad fainting fits.” Tarbot nodded. “The stimulants had a certain effect on the heart,” continued Nurse Ives, “but the improvement always passed away quickly. Notwithstanding the large amount of nourishment he took, the boy was thoroughly exhausted. Miss Evershed came up on the landing and I went to speak to her. The boy heard her voice and got into a state of excitement, too much for him in his feeble state. I did not dare to allow her to come in. When he found I would not admit her he began to cry, and I was just repenting of my own determination, when to my great relief Mr. Pelham came into the room. When he saw the child he put his arms round him and raised him slightly on his pillow. “‘You must not move him too much,’ I said; ‘in the state of his heart the least exertion is bad.’” “Bad!” exclaimed Tarbot. “In the condition the child was in, the slightest movement might have proved fatal.” Pelham’s face, already white, now looked ghastly. He ceased to touch little Piers’s curls. With his arms flung at his sides, he turned and faced the doctor. “May I continue the story?” he asked abruptly. “Certainly,” said Tarbot, turning and facing him.