MEASLES. PERITONITIS.Dr. Acland could not make up his mind as to the cause of Edith’s sudden decline. He felt her pulse, looked at her dilated pupils, and palpated her stomach, even cut her wrist to study her blood. In the end, all he could do was shake his head and try to make her comfortable. Yet he could not even do that. In her half-conscious state she moaned, she writhed, she gasped and pleaded with words that did not make sense even as they pierced the heart.I sat next to her; I would not leave her for a minute. Mamma sat on the other side of the bed. But the men—Papa, devastated; ashen Aubrey—could not take it. They stood outside the room and talked in low, unbelieving murmurs, while Ina officiously declared that she was there to tend to them, for there was no place for her in the sickroom.During my vigil, I did not weep. Neither did Mamma. We sat, silent sentries, and did not speak, not to each other; we did both try to comfort Edith, try to soothe her, try to bring her back from her purgatory of pain, but there was no reaching her.
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