nd looked into her eyes,
scarcely eliciting another moan. Flora dared not ask a question, but
looked on with eyes open, as it were, stiffened.

"This is the effect of opium," were Dr. May's first words, breaking
on all with startling suddenness; but, before any one could speak, he
added, "We must try some stimulant directly;" then looking round the
room, "What have you nearest?"

"Godfrey's Cordial, sir," quickly suggested the nurse.

"Ay--anything to save time--she is sinking for want of the drug that
has--" He broke off to apportion the dose, and to hold the child in a
position to administer it--Flora tried to give it--the nurse tried--in
vain.

"Do not torment her further," said the doctor, as Flora would have
renewed the trial--"it cannot be done. What have you all been doing?"
cried he, as, looking up, his face changed from the tender compassion
with which he had been regarding his little patient, into a look of
strong indignation, and one of his sentences of hasty condemnation broke
from him, as it would not have done, had Flora been less externally
calm. "I tell you this child has been destroyed with opium!"

They all recoiled; the father turned fiercely round on the nurse, with a
violent exclamation, but Dr. May checked him. "Hush! This is no presence
for the wrath of man." The solemn tone seemed to make George shrink
into an awestruck quiescence; he stood motionless and transfixed, as if
indeed conscious of some overwhelming presence.

Flora had come near, with an imploring gesture, to take the child in
her own arms; but Dr. May, by a look of authority, prevented it; for,
indeed, it would have been harassing and distressing the poor little
sufferer again to move her, as she lay with feeble gasps on his arm.

So they remained, for what space no one knew--not one word was uttered,
not a limb moved, and the street noises sounded far off.

Dr. May stooped his head closer to the babe's face, and seemed listening
for a breath, as he once more touched the little wrist; he took away his
finger, he ceased to listen, he looked up.

Flora gave one cry--not loud, not sharp, but "an exceeding bitter
cry"--she would have moved forward, but reeled, and her husband's arms
supported her as she sank into a swoon.

"Carry her to her room," said Dr. May. "I will come;" and, when George
had borne her away, he kissed the lifeless cheek, and reverently placed
the little corpse in the cradle; but, as he rose from doing so,