“She’s breathing.”

I could scarcely restrain my tears at those few simple words, which said so much. Lower gave his own explanations later; how she must have been cut down too early in his efforts to get hold of the corpse first, and how, rather than life itself, merely the appearance of it had been extinguished. How the fall had merely strangled and brought temporary oblivion only. I know all this; he told me his reasons time and again, but I knew differently, and never bothered to contradict him. He believed one thing; I knew another. I knew that I had witnessed the greatest miracle of history. I had seen resurrection; for the spirit of God moved in that room, and the soft wings of the dove that attended her conception returned to beat on Sarah’s soul. It is not given to man, and certainly not to physicians, to restore life when it is extinguished. Lower would argue this proves she was never dead, but he had pronounced her so himself and he had studied the question more carefully than anyone. People say the age of miracles is past, and I believed that myself. But it is not so; they do occur, only we are getting better at explaining them away.

“So what do we do now?” I heard Lower say, a tone of the greatest bafflement and surprise in his voice. “Should we kill her, do you think?”

“What?”

“She is meant to be dead. Not to kill her would merely postpone the inevitable, and ensure I lost her.”

“Well…”

I could not believe my ears. Surely, after witnessing such a marvel, my friend could not be serious? He could not go against the manifest will of God and commit murder? I wanted to stand up and remonstrate with him, but found that I could not. I could not stand, I could not open my mouth; all I could do was sit there and listen, for I think the Lord had still more purpose that day as well; He wanted Lower to redeem himself as well, if only he would take the opportunity.

“I’d hit her on the head,” he said, “except that would damage the brain.” And he stood awhile in thought before scratching his chin nervously. “I’ll have to cut her throat,” he went on. “It’s the only solution.”

And again he picked up his knife, and again he hesitated, before quietly laying it down again. “I can’t do this,” he said. “Locke, advise me. What should I do?”

“I seem to remember,” Locke said, “that we physicians are meant protect life, and are never meant to kill. Is that not the case?”

“But legally,” Lower replied, “she is already dead. I am merely doing properly what should already have been done.”

“Are you a hangman then?”

“She was condemned to die.”

“Was she?”

“You know very well she was.”

“I remember,” Locke said, “that she was sentenced to be hanged by the neck. She has been so. There was no mention of her being hanged by the neck until dead. I admit this is normally understood and stated, but as it was not in this case, it cannot be counted a necessary part of the punishment.”

“She has also been condemned to burn,” Lower said. “And the hanging was merely a way of sparing her pain. Are you telling me we should now hand her over to the pyre and let her burn alive?”

Then his attention was brought to Sarah herself, who issued a soft, low moan as she lay all unattended while they conducted their dispute.

“Bring me a bandage,” he said, the physician once more. “And let me bind up this cut I made in her.”

For the next five minutes or so, he worked steadily on the wound, fortunately only small, before he and Locke used all their strength to raise her up into a sitting position, resting her back against their shoulders, and swinging her legs down off the table. Finally, while Locke instructed her on deep breathing, so that her head might steady itself, Lower fetched a cloak, and with the utmost gentleness, covered her up.

A living, sitting woman is more difficult to contemplate killing than a corpse flat out on a table and, by the time the movement was finished, Lower’s attitude had entirely changed. His natural kindness, kept at bay on many occasions by his ambition, swept all before it and, whatever he thought he should do, he began to treat the girl as his patient almost without being aware of it. And he was always ferocious in the defense of those whom he considered to be under his protection.

“But what do we do now?” he said, and all of us in that room were aware that while this had been continuing, the noise from the street outside had insensibly grown, so that now there was the roar of a substantial number of people outside. Locke poked his head out of the window.

“It is the crowd. I told you they wouldn’t like this,” he said. “Just as well it is raining so hard, it keeps most of them away.” He peered up into the sky. “Have you ever seen rain like this before?”

Another groan from Sarah, who bent her head down and was violently sick, heaving and retching, distracted their attention once again. Lower brought some spirits, and patted her on the head as he forced her to drink some, although it only made her retch the more.

“If you tell them this, they will only say it was a sign of disfavor at what you intended. They will take her away and put her on the pyre, then stand guard to make sure you get nowhere near.”

“Are you saying we shouldn’t hand her over?”

Through all this, I had said not a word, but merely stood in the corner and watched. Now I found my voice was given back to me. I could make a difference in this balance, for it was clear that all must agree to whatever action was taken.

“You must not,” I said. “She has done no wrong. She is entirely innocent. I know it. If you hand her over, you will not only abandon a patient, you will abandon an innocent whom God has favored.”

“And you are sure of this?” Locke said, turning and apparently noticing me for the first time.

“I am. 1 tried to tell the court, but was hooted down.”

“1 will not ask you how you know,” he said softly, and his penetrating look made me realize, for the first and only time, how it was that he subsequently achieved such a place in the world. For he saw more than other people, and guessed more still. I was grateful to him for his silence, and have been ever since.

“Very well,” he continued. “The only problem is that we may take her place on the gallows. I am a generous man, I think, but even I have limits to what I will do for a patient.”

Lower, meanwhile, had been pacing up and down in the greatest agitation, occasionally sneaking a glimpse out of the window, then looking in turn at Sarah, then Locke, then me. When Locke and I had finished our exchange, he spoke—“Sarah?” he said softly, and repeated it until she lifted up her head and looked at him. Her eyes were bloodshot and ill, for the little vessels within them had ruptured, and gave her the air of a very devil, and the whiteness of her complexion made this seem even more frightening.

“Can you hear me? Can you speak?”

After a long pause, she nodded.

“You must answer me a question,” he said, coming and kneeling on one knee before her, so that she could see him clear. “Whatever you have said in the past, you must say the truth now. For our lives and souls depend on it, as well as yours. Did you kill Dr. Grove?”

Even though I knew the truth, I did not know the answer she would give. And she did not give one for some time, but eventually she shook her head.

“Your confession was false?”

A little nod.

“You swear this by all you hold dear?”

She nodded.

Lower stood up, and heaved a heavy sigh. “Mr. Wood,” he said. “Take this girl upstairs to Boyle’s chamber. He will be indignant if he discovers, so try not to make a mess. Dress her as best you can, and cut off her hair.”

I stared uncomprehending, and Lower frowned. “Now, Mr. Wood, if you please. You must never query a physician while he is trying to save a life.”