n her lap, a mere bundle of skin and
bone, green in colour and scarcely breathing. The doctor had just left
with a sad shake of his head and the conclusive words:

"Only a matter of an hour or so, Mrs. Ozanne. Try and bear up. You
have the other little one left."

But what mother's heart could ever comfort its pain for the loss of one
loved child by thinking of those that are left? Heavy tears fell down
Mrs. Ozanne's cheek on to the small, wasted form. Her trouble seemed
the more poignant in that she had to bear it alone, for her husband was
away on a trip to the old country. She herself was sick, worn to a
shadow from long nursing and watching. But even now there was no
effort, physical or mental, that she would not have made to save the
little life that had just been condemned. Her painful brooding was
broken by the sound of a soft and languorous voice.

"Baby very sick, missis?"

The mother looked up and saw, in the doorway, the new cook who had been
with them about a week, and of whom she knew little save that the woman
was a Malay and named Rachel Bangat. There was nothing strange in her
coming to the mistress's room to offer sympathy. In a South African
household the servants take a vivid interest in all that goes on.
"Yes," said the mother, dully. The woman crept nearer and looked down
on the little face with its deathly green shadows.

"Baby going to die, missis," she said.

Mrs. Ozanne bowed her head. There was silence then. The mother, blind
with tears, thought the woman had gone as quietly as she came, but
presently the voice spoke again, almost caressingly.

"Missis sell baby to me for a farthing; baby not die."

The mother gave a jump, then dashed the tears from her eyes and stared
at the speaker. In the dusky shadows of the doorway the woman, in her
white turban and black-and-gold shawl, seemed suddenly to have assumed
a fateful air. Yet she was an ordinary enough looking Malay, of stout,
even course, build, with a broad, high cheek-boned face that wore the
grave expression of her race. It was only her dark eyes, full of a
sinister melancholy, that differed from any eyes Mrs. Ozanne had ever
seen, making her shiver and clutch the baby to her breast.

"Go away out of here!" she said violently, and the woman went, without
a word. But within half an hour the languorous voice was whispering
once more from the shadow of the doorway.

"Missis sell baby to me for a farthing; baby get w