Ethel Turner

“ More and more icy grew the hand at her heart, whiter and whiter shone the moon, longer and longer every minute took to pass. A sudden gust of wind blew over the pampas clumps full into her face, and the air was still again. Perhaps with that very wind Essie had left them.
She fell on her knees with wide, outstretched arms, and dropped her face on the low hedge. The twigs and leaves scratched and pricked her, the ground made her knees ache, the night air was freezing her; but that was happiness. The sky she dare not look at ”

“ She was a little child again, flying from the bark hut and awful gathering shadows to the fence that skirted the road along which help would come. She was a child flinging herself on the ground, face downward, and crying, "Make her better, God!—God, make her better,—oh, can't you make her better!" ”

“ He drew her just within the gate and wrapped his overcoat round her, for she was jacketless, of course.
"I trust you not to come past the hedge," he said. "See, stand here, and I can find you easily. There now, dear, I must go."
"A minute—is she in—real danger, Alan? Is she going to die?"
Oh the wide, beseeching eyes, full of moonlight and misery!
He had never told a lie in his life,—never even charged one to his medical conscience; but his arm clasped her more strongly, more tenderly.
"She is in danger," he said quietly. "We are afraid she cannot live ”