'God in heaven! she can't be going to suck the bite?' Fleetwood cried to Madge, whose answer was disquieting 'If it's to save life, my mistress won't stop at anything.' His heart sprang with a lighted comprehension of Gower Woodseer's meaning. This girl's fervour opened portals to new views of her mistress, or opened eyes. CHAPTER XXXIII A FRIGHTFUL DEBATE Pushing through a swarm into the cot, Fleetwood saw Carinthia on a knee beside a girl's lap, where the stripped child lay. Its mother held a basin for the dabbing at raw red spots. A sting of pain touched the memory of its fright, and brought further screams, then the sobs. Carinthia hummed a Styrian cradle-song as the wailing lulled. She glanced up; she said to the earl: 'The bite was deep; it was in the blood. We may have time. Get me an interpreter. I must ask the mother. I know not many words.' 'What now?' said he, at the looming of new vexations. 'We have no choice. Has a man gone? Dr. Griffiths would hurry fast. An hour may be too late. The poison travels: Father advised it:--Fifty years for one brave minute! This child should be helped to live.' 'We 'll do our best. Why an interpreter?' 'A poker in the fire. The interpreter--whether the mother will bear to have it done.' 'Burn, do you mean?' 'It should be burnt.' 'Not by you?' 'Quick! Quick!' 'But will you--could you? No, I say!' 'If there is no one else.' 'You forget your own child.' 'He is near the end of his mother.' 'The doctor will soon arrive.' 'The poison travels. It cannot be overtaken unless we start nearly equal, father said.' 'Work like that wants an experienced hand.' 'A steady one. I would not quake--not tremble.' 'I cannot permit it.' 'Mr. Wythan would know!--he would know! 'Do you hear, Lady Fleetwood--the dog may not be mad!' 'Signs! He ran heavy, he foamed.' 'Foam 's no sign.' 'Go; order to me a speaker of English and Welsh.' The earl spun round, sensible of the novelty of his being commanded, and submitting; but no sooner had he turned than he fell into her view of the urgency, and he went, much like the boy we see at school, with a strong hand on his collar running him in. Madge entered, and said: 'Mr. Woodseer has seen baby and Martha and the donkey all safe.' 'He is kind,' said Carinthia. 'Do we right to bathe the wound? It seems right to wash it. Little things that seem right may be exactly wrong after all, when we are ignorant. I know burning the wound is right.' Madge asked: 'But, my lady, who is to do it?' 'You would do it, dear, if I shrank,' her mistress replied. 'Oh, my lady, I don't know, I can't say. Burning a child! And there's our baby.' 'He has had me nearly his time.' 'Oh, my dear lady! Would the mother consent?' 'My Madge! I have so few of their words yet. You would hold the child to save it from a dreadful end.' 'God help me, my lady--I would, as long as I live I will . . . . Oh! poor infant, we do need our courage now.'