crossed
to the bed. She was past middle life, of medium stature, with small,
clearly cut features and cold blue eyes. Her mouth was full, but very
firm. Self-poise was visible even in her surprised movements. She bent
over the bed and looked into Edith's wistful eyes.

"Where is my baby, mother?" Mrs. Dinneford put her fingers lightly on
Edith's lips.

"You must be very quiet," she said, in a low, even voice. "The doctor
forbids all excitement. You have been extremely ill."

"Can't I see my baby, mother? It won't hurt me to see my baby."

"Not now. The doctor--"

Edith half arose in bed, a look of doubt and fear coming into her face.

"I want my baby, mother," she said, interrupting her.

A hard, resolute expression came into the cold blue eyes of Mrs.
Dinneford. She put her hand firmly against Edith and pressed her back
upon the pillow.

"You have been very ill for nearly two months," she said, softening her
voice. "No one thought you could live. Thank God! the crisis is over,
but not the danger."

"Two months! Oh, mother!"

The slight flush that had come into Edith's wan face faded out, and the
pallor it had hidden for a few moments became deeper. She shut her eyes
and lay very still, but it was plain from the expression of her face
that thought was busy.

"Not two whole months, mother?" she said, at length, in doubtful tones.
"Oh no! it cannot be."

"It is just as I have said, Edith; and now, my dear child, as you value
your life, keep quiet; all excitement is dangerous."

But repression was impossible. To Edith's consciousness there was no
lapse of time. It seemed scarcely an hour since the birth of her baby
and its removal from her sight. The inflowing tide of mother-love, the
pressure and yearning sweetness of which she had begun to feel when she
first called for the baby they had not permitted to rest, even for an
instant, on her bosom, was now flooding her heart. Two months! If that
were so, what of the baby? To be submissive was impossible.

Starting up half wildly, a vague terror in her face, she cried,
piteously,

"Oh, mother, bring me my baby. I shall die if you do not!"

"Your baby is in heaven," said Mrs. Dinneford, softening her voice to a
tone of tender regret.

Edith caught her breath, grew very white, and then, with a low, wailing
cry that sent a shiver through Mrs. Dinneford's heart, fell back, to all
appearance dead.

The mother did not call for help, but sat by the bedside of