or less complete. Were the hemorrhage over the vault of the cranium, and one had any indication as to its region, I would trephine and relieve the pressure, but I fear there is no doubt the serious injury is beyond our reach. There is nothing whatever for it but simply to wait and see; but I feel that I must say, though there is a distinct hope of the child's slow recovery to life, the condition of his intellect will be permanently impaired. Such has always been my experience. At the present moment, as you must both know well, the child is in a most precarious condition, and it is impossible to say anything very definite as to the outcome one way or another. Anyhow, there is nothing whatever to be done but to wait events."
"I cannot agree with you," I interrupted, eagerly. "I am of opinion that the injury is to the upper surface of the brain. That is the cause of the serious mischief, though I admit there is probably shock and concussion at the base."
I then described the symptoms which led me to this conclusion, and strongly advocated a trephining operation, even if only with a view to exploring in search of the impaired spot.
"No," replied Parsons; "the injury is, I am certain, to the base of the brain, and surgical interference would be worse than useless. It would not only be of no avail as far as relief is concerned, but would positively add to the danger already existing. Of course, I have every hope that the boy may partially recover. His intellect will never be the same, however."
"Good heavens!" I could not help exclaiming. "Is the boy to become an idiot? An idiot, and heir to all these estates; an idiot, and the son of Harold and Kitty Stanhope! Death would be better. I wish you would consider the possibility of trephining, Parsons."
"I cannot counsel it," he answered. "The risk would be too great. Were there any definite ground to go on, and did I know the exact spot where the injury has taken place, I might dare to try it, but even then not without the parents' complete sanction. You must remember that this operation cannot be performed on the part of the brain which I believe to be affected."
"I have performed the operation on the dead," I said, "but not yet, it is true, on a living subject."
"Well, it would be useless in this case," said the surgeon, with a little heat. He rose as he spoke. "Nothing can be done," he said, in a decided tone, "but to wait events. Now we had better see the poor parents."
"She laid her hand on one of his shoulders."
We went downstairs. I shall never forget the scene that followed; it is absolutely impossible for me to describe it. The silent anguish of the mother—her perfect self-control, her attitude, the way she looked at Stanhope, the way she approached his chair and laid her hand on one of his shoulders.
