sat in silence watching the sleeping child.

Sophy whispered once, with her avid eyes on the little, sunken face:

"Is he really only ... asleep?"

For answer, Bellamy lifted one of Bobby's hands and laid it in hers.

"He's so sound it won't wake him," he reassured her, smiling.

And for Sophy the warmth of that little hand was as the warmth of her
own soul's blood.

* * * * *

For a long, long time she sat there with inner vision fixed on the
beautiful and terrible star that had risen in the dark night of her
soul--the star of a destiny as stern and far more ancient than that
foretold at Bethlehem: the star of primordial and eternally recurrent
sacrifice ... of the crucifixion of the mother for the child. And a
woman if she be so lifted up shall draw all women to her and to each
other--for this is the dark yet shining law, whereby the individual's
loss is the gain of the whole race.

When Bobby at last opened his eyes they rested on his mother's face. She
hardly dared to breathe, it was so wonderful to see those grey eyes
looking into hers with recognition. And the boy, too, was afraid to stir
or speak lest his mother's face should vanish or change into some
dreadful difference as it had vanished and changed in the dreams of
fever. But as she knelt, holding his hand against her breast, gazing at
him out of the eyes that meant all love to him--a little stiff, wistful
smile parted his lips.

"Mother ... dear...." he whispered.

Then Sophy put her cheek to his. He felt the soft glow of her sheltering
breast.

"Hold me fast ... don't leave me...." he murmured.

"Never, my darling ... my only man ... never, never again...."

"Our Father...." stumbled Bobby, ".... thank you ... _ever_ so much...."

Then he drowsed off again.

* * * * *

A week later Sophy was sitting beside him as usual, and again he was
sleeping. It was drawing towards sunset. A lovely glow filled the sky
and lighted the yellowing trees in the Park.

Bobby waked suddenly and, gazing out of the window near his bed,
pleaded:

"Mother ... I _do_ so want to smell the out of doors.... Couldn't you
open this window?"

Sophy called Anne Harding, who was in the next room.

"Do you think we might open it?" she asked, after telling her what Bobby
wanted. "It's so mild to-day--like St. Martin's summer.... He wants it
so much...."

"Of course we can," Anne answered cheerfully. "Dr