And Jock, ill as he was, did not fill his mother with such dread for
the future as did Armine, when she found him, quiet indeed, but
unable to lie down, except when supported on John's breast and in his
arms-—with a fearful oppression and pain in his chest, and every
token that the lungs were suffering. He had not let them call her.
Jock's murmurs and cries were to be heard plainly through the wooden
partition, and the little fellow knew she could not be spared, and
only tried to prevent John and Mr. Graham from alarming her. "She-—
can't-—do-—any-—good," he gasped out in John's ear.
No, nobody could, without medical skill and appliances. The utmost
that the house could do was to produce enough mustard to make two
plasters, and to fill bottles with hot water, to warm stones, and to
wrap them in blankets. And what was this, in such cold as penetrated
the wooden building, too high up in the mountains for the June sun as
yet to have full power? The snow kept blinding and drifting on, and
though everyone said it could not last long at that time in the
summer, it might easily last too long for Armine's fragile life.
Here was evening drawing on and no change outside, so that no offer
of reward could make it possible for any messenger to attempt the
Gemmi to fetch advice from Leukerbad.
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