I turned again from the past, as the doctor came in, to look
at the poor creature herself. She did not answer the words he
addressed to her; I doubted if she heard them; she was
evidently oppressed with disease, which was fast making an end
of her. Experience had taught me now to judge somewhat of the
looks and condition of sick people. Molly, I saw, was very
sick; and I knew soon that it was with a combination of evils,
which had taken hold of her, and made her poor existence a
wearisome thing. It was near an end now.
"Speak to her," - said the doctor.
And I did, and he did; but we got no response. None in words;
I fancied that the look of the face bore witness to some
aroused attention; might it be more? One hand of Molly's lay
stretched out upon the coverlid. She was a mass of disease; I
should not have thought once that I could touch that hand; but
I had had training since then. I put my hand upon that poor
hand and clasped it. I fancied, I cannot tell why, that Molly
was sensible of my action and that she liked it; yet she did
not speak. - We sat so, my hand in hers, or hers in mine, and
Dr. Sandford watching us. Time went by. I hardly knew how it
went.
"How long will you stay?" he asked at length.
"I cannot leave her so, Dr. Sandford."
"You cannot stay here!"
"Why not?"
"It would be a peculiar proceeding. You would not do it?"
"I cannot do otherwise, Dr. Sandford. I cannot leave her alone
in this condition."
"I cannot leave you," he said.
"There is nothing to be afraid of," I returned, looking at
him. "And something may need to be done."
The doctor's look in answer was unguarded; it expressed so
much that he did not generally allow himself to express; it
was full of tenderness, of reverence, of affection. Full it
was of sorrow too. It was not a look I could meet. I turned
from it hastily; the former question was let drop; and we were
again still and silent. I had enough to keep me silent, and
Dr. Sandford was as mute. All three of us only breathed in
company, for a long while more; though I suppose some of Dr.
Sandford's meditations and mine came near together. I do not
know how time went; but then, the one to break silence was the
one I had thought might never speak again. Suddenly she began
in a low sort of crooning voice, saying over and over the same
words "I am in the valley - in the valley - in the valley -"
Maybe half a dozen times she repeated these words; and
forlornly true as they seemed of her, I was in doubt whether
she knew of what she was speaking. Could intelligence be
awake, in that oppressed condition of the bodily powers? Her
speech was a sort of mumbling repetition. But then, with a
change of tone, clean and round the words came out "But there's light in the valley! -"