She had another fit of coughing, and I got up to give her some milk. After that I thought she had forgotten the story, but she requested its continuance, and so I continued it, with the necessary breaks, till four in the morning, when she fell asleep.
Not even the orders of the doctor prevailed over my disinclination to awakening her at five for her medicine. She herself awoke a little later: the medicine was given; and at her request the story continued; but only for a little, for we could not get on with it 'one little bit,' as she said, owing to the growing frequency of her fits of coughing. She was quite exhausted by the time the sun came into the room over the top of the hedge; that is, about seven o'clock. I was tired, but not sleepy: and less tired when I had washed myself. Then she fell asleep again.
The doctor came about eleven. He sanctioned her drinking her milk and beef-tea cold if she really did not like to drink it warm; and Rosy's silence said that she did not like. I went with him to the door and into the garden, where I asked him if he could not give her some opiate? He shook his head. I said that she was being torn to pieces by the cough, and that I could not help thinking that it was dangerous to let her get as exhausted as she had been a few hours ago, and was yet. He said:
'I dare not give her anything.'
The words and their tone settled the matter. I asked again if it was possible to give her any stimulants now? He said:
'No; best not. Go on just the same as yesterday with the inhaler and the poultices, and the milk and beef-tea. That is all.'
I said that as fast as I gave it her, she brought it all up again: purposelessly. Then, after a proposal about a nurse, which I refused, he left me. I thought no more of him.
At about five she would have me lie down on the edge of the bed and try to get some sleep; and, with the promise from her that she would awaken me in an hour, when it would be time for her to inhale again, I closed my eyes. She deceived me. It was seven
