"My missis is in labour, and, for the love of God, step in while I
run for th' doctor, for she's fearful bad."

While the woman hastily dressed herself, leaving the window still
open, she heard the cries of agony, which resounded in the little
court in the stillness of the night. In less than five minutes she
was standing by Mrs. Barton's bedside, relieving the terrified Mary,
who went about where she was told like an automaton; her eyes
tearless, her face calm, though deadly pale, and uttering no sound,
except when her teeth chattered for very nervousness.

The cries grew worse.

The doctor was very long in hearing the repeated rings at his
night-bell, and still longer in understanding who it was that made
this sudden call upon his services; and then he begged Barton just
to wait while he dressed himself, in order that no time might be
lost in finding the court and house. Barton absolutely stamped with
impatience, outside the doctor's door, before he came down; and
walked so fast homewards, that the medical man several times asked
him to go slower.

"Is she so very bad?" asked he.

"Worse, much worser than I ever saw her before," replied John.

No! she was not--she was at peace. The cries were still for ever.
John had no time for listening. He opened the latched door, stayed
not to light a candle for the mere ceremony of showing his companion
up the stairs, so well known to himself; but, in two minutes, was in