WHITEWASH
mother was at once admitted to the child's bedside. The effects of the anæsthetic had passed, but no recognition lit the feverish eyes. Even the mother's voice and touch failed in their mission. When at last the long closed lips parted, shriek after shriek of blind terror woke the silence of the room. The doctor intervened, and drugged the child to unconsciousness again.
The room had been cleared of all strangers, except Sonia and Victoria, who remained in obedience to the supplication of the distracted woman. To Victoria's trembling inquiry the doctor shook his head.
"It's only a matter of time. Meningitis—she would have died anyway, but the fright and the chloroform—it will not be long."
"You must prepare her. She still hopes for a miracle," said Victoria, glancing at the kneeling figure of the black countess, who, prostrated at the foot of her daughter's bed, repeated prayer after prayer with agonized rapidity, clasping a worn rosary in her burning hands.
The candles, guttering in their holders, threw gigantic deformed shadows on the bare walls,
