A man, a stranger to me, sat by the bedside, his eyes fixed on the child lying there.  He was the great London doctor, in whom I could see all hope was centered.  There were other doctors and nurses, I believe, but it all seemed confusion to me now; but poor, broken hearted Nannie I remember.  She stood at a distance.  Not a sound was uttered, and I took up my watch with the others, to watch that precious life ebbing away.  The soft flitting backward and forward of nurses, a word now and then from the great man who held not only the life of Sara in his hands, but, it seemed to me, the life of my beautiful Diana, only broke the intense silence.  The night came on and we still watched.

The doctor’s face became sterner and graver and the little life weaker, or so it seemed to me.  Diana knelt at the side of the bed.  She never moved.

As the dawn broke, Sara opened her eyes and said, “Nannie.”

Diana rose and beckoned to Nannie.  Nannie hesitated, and Diana, taking her hand, whispered, “Dear Nannie, I am so glad,” and gave up her place.  It is not given to all of us to reach great heights, but Diana at that moment, I think, reached the divine in human nature.  Then came the moment, too wonderful to think of, when the doctor told Diana that the great danger was over.

Later he said to David, “My boy, you have given your children the greatest of all blessings in their mother.  Thank God for her every moment of your life.  I’ve seen many mothers and many sick children, but —­ thank God, and don’t forget it.”

Dear David, I think most of us thank God oftener than we know and in many and divers ways, and I am not sure that David does not do it every time he looks at Diana.

Chapter XVIII

Sara, having got over the crisis and being on the fair road to recovery, —­children recover quickly, —­ my heart turned towards home —­ and a longing to get back obsessed me.  I could think of nothing but home, now that Diana’s immediate need of me was over.  She begged me to stay with her.  To fail her at such a moment was a great grief to me, but I could make no further sacrifice.  I must go home.

“I must go, David,” I urged.

“Of course, if you must, you must, Betty, but I should have thought after all Diana has gone through, you would have stayed with her.  You have always been so much to each other.”

How he hurt me, as if I wouldn’t do anything in the world for Diana; but I must go home.

“David,” I said in desperation, “I must go.  If I promise to come back directly, you won’t misunderstand my going?”

“I’ll try to understand, Betty, that you have some very strong reason for going back.”

“Thank you, David,” I said.

“But,” he continued, “you must tell Diana yourself.”

I went to her room, where she was lying down.  “Diana, darling,” I said, “I want very much to go home, if only for a day.”