them between her sobs in rapid phrases exactly as if they were not
dead. The young Danite was sure that she had lost her wits; he leant
against a tree confounded.

Susannah was saying, "I wanted to keep baby, Angel, I wanted so much to
keep him, but I could not have taught him your way; there was no use
telling you that before, for you could not understand. When you told me
that you would go you did not tell me you meant to take baby. You have
the best right to him, dear, he is all yours, but oh! remember--remember
that I will be very lonely--very lonely--O Angel." There were a few
moments of wordless moans and sobs, but she went on clearly enough, "I
want you to know, Angel, that I never was disappointed in you--never
disappointed in you, dear; and about my lack of faith--it would have
been no use to tell you before, would it?"

She took her hand from Halsey's hair and played a moment with the rings
of gold on the baby's head lying on his breast. She laid her hand upon
Halsey's hands that she had clasped together above the child. "It is
better for you to have baby with you. I could not have taught him your
thoughts. It is better, dear, isn't it?"

The earnest inflection of her voice in these interrogations brought so
wild a sense of pathos to the Danite's heart that his eyes filled with
tears and brimmed over, but Susannah's sobs were like a nervous gasping
of which she was scarcely conscious, and no hint of tears.

She lightly touched the baby hand that was lying on its father's
shoulder, still grasping the blue blossoms. "See," she sobbed, "he has
brought his flowers to you; he always loved you best."

There had been a great silence in the air about them, but now there was
again the sound of firing at the distance of about a mile. The Danite's
pulses leaped, but he did not, because of that, allow himself to speak
or move.

Susannah spoke again, resting her hand on Halsey's brow, "You know,
dear, I don't know whether you and baby are anywhere--anywhere"; wildly,
as if the appalling loneliness of its meaning had flashed upon her
dulled brain, she repeated the word.

The Danite's sympathy rose within him; he staggered forward and bent
over her. "Don't, ma'am," he said, "don't go on talking like that. I was
with my own mother when she died, when I was a little chap, and I know
how it is, and you'd much better try to shed tears, ma'am, indeed you
had."

Susannah lifted to him a blank face, disturbed but uncompreh