moved fast; for now my eyes had grown used to the dim light I could see
her face plainly, but I could not catch a syllable of what she was
whispering so busily to herself.

Never had I felt so helpless and disconcerted in the presence of a
patient. I could positively do nothing for her. The case was not beyond
my skill, but all medicinal resources were beyond my reach. Sleep she
must have, yet how was I to administer it to her?

I returned, troubled and irritable, to search once more my empty
portmanteau. Empty it was, except of the current number of _Punch_,
which my father had considerately packed among the splints for my
Sunday-evening reading. I flung it and the bag across the kitchen, with
an ejaculation not at all flattering to Dr. Dobrée, nor in accordance
with the fifth commandment.

"What is the matter, doctor?" inquired Tardif.

I told him in a few sharp words what I wanted to soothe my patient. In
an instant he left his cooking and thrust his arms into his blue jacket
again.

"You can finish it yourself, Dr. Martin," he said, hurriedly; "I'll run
over to old Mother Renouf; she'll have some herbs or something to send
mam'zelle to sleep."

"Bring her back with you," I shouted after him as he sped across the
yard. Mother Renouf was no stranger to me. While I was a boy she had
charmed my warts away, and healed the bruises which were the inevitable
consequences of cliff-climbing. I scarcely liked her coming in to fill