to the lips, and, gently putting the old woman
aside, took her place at the bedside, where a pitiful sight met her
eyes. Her little one lay in the terrible throes of "convulsions," and
again the doctor tried to banish Valmai from the scene.

"Let me be," she said, in a quiet voice, which astonished the young
man. "Let me be; I am used to trouble." And passing her arm under the
little struggling frame, she supported it until the last gasp put an
end to its sufferings.

Mr. Francis took the child into his own arms and laid it on the bed,
turning his attention to Valmai, who had fallen fainting on the floor.

"Poor thing! poor thing!" said the tender-hearted young man. "It is a
pity she cannot remain unconscious."

But he applied the usual restoratives, and she soon opened her eyes,
while Nance straightened the folds of the little night-gown with loving
fingers, tears coursing each other down her wrinkled face.

"Oh, dear heart! how will she bear it?"

Mr. Francis was silently bathing the girl's forehead.

"You are better now?" he asked.

"Yes," she said; "thank you. You have been very kind, but do not
trouble to stay longer; I am quite well," and she slowly rose from the
settle.

"I will go now," said the young man. "You would like to be alone, but
I will call in the afternoon. You will want someone to--to--make
arrangements for you."

"Arrangements? To have my little one buried? Yes, yes, of course. I
shall be thankful, indeed."

"Here, or at Penderin?"

"Oh, here--in the 'rock' churchyard."

"I will go at once," and he went out, gently closing the door upon the
two women in their sorrow.

In the afternoon he came again, and, being a man of very warm feelings,
dreaded the scene of a woman's tears and sobs, though he longed to
soothe and comfort the girl who so much interested him. But there were
no tears or wailings awaiting him.

Valmai sat in the low rush chair in stony despair, her hands clasped on
her lap, her face white as her dress, her blue eyes dry, and with a
mute, inquiring gaze in them, as though she looked around for an
explanation of this fresh misery.

He did not tell her more than was necessary of his interview with the
Vicar. The child was supposed to be illegitimate as well as
unbaptised, and could not, therefore, be allowed to sleep his last
sleep in the company of the baptised saints.

Old Shon, the sexton, was already digging the little grave in a corner
of the churc