nscious of them, and her principal feeling was one of
dumb rebellion which grew until she found herself almost hating _this_
Donald, who could speak with such unconcern and apparent callousness, at
such a time. As well as she could, she willed her swimming gaze to
remain fixed on the pad which she must keep moist. The difficulty of the
task had suddenly become increased, for the pad seemed to become an
animate thing. Now it appeared to retreat into the distance, and again
it came floating back until it seemed about to smother her. There was a
droning note in her ears; the words spoken by the other two sounded
mixed and indistinct.

Of only one sentence, repeated monotonously in Miss Merriman's clear
voice, was she really conscious. "Rose, a drop of ether ... a drop of
ether ... a drop of ether."

She wanted to speak, to ask them if the room were not frightfully hot;
but she could not.

Rose had never fainted in her life, but she had once seen a neighbor
swoon, and she realized vaguely that, as the minutes passed, her
consciousness was slowly slipping from her. The air was close and heavy
with strange smells. She felt as though she were swaying like a
pendulum. The old, familiar objects grew grotesquely large and hazy; the
deep shadows in the corners multiplied, and began to dance a solemn
minuet, advancing, retreating; advancing, retreating....

"Another drop of ether."

She took a fresh mental grasp on herself, and held Duty, like a visible
thing, before her eyes.

Again that queer, far-away voice.

"Look, Miss Merriman. Can you see that neoplasm under the membrane? Ah
... now the flat dissector ... no, the blunter one ..."

The voice trailed away into nothing, and another recalled her failing
senses, with the battle cry:

"Rose, another drop of ether."

Then it began again, "Thank heaven, there is no infiltration, the growth
is well localized and encapsulated. Steady, steady.... Ah, very pretty."

The word caught her flickering thoughts, and angered her. How could any
one use it about anything so awful?

There was another misty moment. Then, "The operation is, in itself, a
success, I think.... Now if the child's vitality ... I never did a
better one ... another sponge ... excellent ... Are the sutures
ready?... Quick, take the ether bottle, Miss Merriman!"

Suddenly the girl felt a painful grasp on her arm. Some one was shaking
her roughly.

"Rose," came the same strange voice, "we need some more woo