en Nora began to
recover, the child fell ill also. In the sickness of the child the old
man had a great temptation--far greater than that concerning Dugard. As
the mother grew better the child became much worse. One night the doctor
came, driving over from another settlement, and said that if the child
got sleep till morning it would probably live, for the crisis had come.
He left an opiate to procure the sleep, the same that had been given
to the mother. If it did not sleep, it would die. Pierre was present at
this time.

All through the child's illness the old man's mind had been tossed to
and fro. If the child died, the living stigma would be gone; there would
be no reminder of his daughter's shame in the eyes of the world. They
could go away from Bamber's Boom, and begin life again somewhere. But,
then, there was the child itself which had crept into his heart,--he
knew not how, and would not be driven out. He had never, till it
was taken ill, even touched it, nor spoken to it. To destroy its
life!--Well, would it not be better for the child to go out of all
possible shame, into peace, the peace of the grave?

This night he sat down beside the cradle, holding the bottle of medicine
and a spoon in his hand. The hot, painful face of the child fascinated
him. He looked from it to the bottle, and back, then again to the
bottle. He started, and the sweat stood out on his forehead. For though
the doctor had told him in words the proper dose, he had by mistake
written on the label the same dose as for the mother! Here was the
responsibility shifted in any case. More than once the old man uncorked
the bottle, and once he dropped out the opiate in the spoon steadily;
but the child opened its suffering eyes at him, its little wasted hand
wandered over the coverlet, and he could not do it just then. But
again the passion for its destruction came on him, because he heard his
daughter moaning in the other room. He said to himself that she would be
happier when it was gone. But as he stooped over the cradle, no longer
hesitating, the door softly opened, and Pierre entered. The old man
shuddered, and drew back from the cradle. Pierre saw the look of guilt
in the old man's face, and his instinct told him what was happening. He
took the bottle from the trembling hand, and looked at the label.

"What is the proper dose?" he asked, seeing that a mistake had been made
by the doctor.

In a hoarse whisper Magor told him. "It may be t