ea or
milk to his mouth, and tried to rouse him to take it, but she could make
no impression on the passive lips; the sleeping serenity of the brow
never changed.

At last, with a start, Marcella looked round and saw that the morning
was fully there. A cold light was streaming through the curtains; the
fire was still glowing; but her limbs were stiff and chilled under her
shawl. She sprang up, horror descending on her. Her shaking fingers
could hardly draw out the watch in her belt.

_Ten minutes to eight_!

For the first time the girl felt nerve and resolution fail her. She
looked at Mrs. Hurd and wrung her hands. The mother was muttering and
moving, but not yet fully awake; and Willie lay as before. Hardly
knowing what she was doing, she drew the curtains back, as though
inspiration might come with the light. The rain-clouds trailed across
the common; water dripped heavily from the thatch of the cottage; and a
few birds twittered from some bedraggled larches at the edge of the
common. Far away, beyond and beneath those woods to the right,
Widrington lay on the plain, with that high-walled stone building at its
edge. She saw everything as it must now be happening as plainly as
though she were bodily present there--the last meal--the pinioning--the
chaplain.

Goaded by the passing seconds, she turned back at last to wake that poor
sleeper behind her. But something diverted her. With a start she saw
that Willie's eyes were open.

"Willie," she said, running to him, "how are you, dear? Shall I lift
your head a little?"

He did not answer, though she thought he tried, and she was struck by
the blueness under the eyes and nose. Hurriedly she felt his tiny feet.
They were quite cold.

"Mrs. Hurd!" she cried, rousing her in haste; "dear Mrs. Hurd, come and
see Willie!"

The mother sprang up bewildered, and, hurrying across the room, threw
herself upon him.

"Willie, what is it ails you, dear? Tell mother! Is it your feet are so
cold? But we'll rub them--we'll get you warm soon. And here's something
to make you better." Marcella handed her some brandy. "Drink it, dear;
drink it, sweetheart!" Her voice grew shrill.

"He can't," said Marcella. "Do not let us plague him; it is the end. Dr.
Clarke said it would come in the morning."

They hung over him, forgetting everything but him for the moment--the
only moment in his little life he came first even with his mother.

There was a slight movement of the hand.

"