y,
as well as my nurse, were in the room, and that they were waiting for
the crisis and fearing for my life.

I heard them talking in low voices which made a drumming noise in my
ears, like that which the sea makes when it is rolling into a cave.

"She's let herself down so low, pore thing, that I don't know in the
world what's to happen to her."

"As God is my witness, look you, I never saw anybody live on so little."

"I'm not afraid of the mother. I'm more afraid of the child, if you ask
me."

Then the drumming noise would die out, and I would only hear something
within myself saying:

"Oh God, oh God, that my child may be born dead."

At another moment I heard, above the rattle of the rain, the creaking of
the mangle in the cellar-kitchen on the other side of the street.

At still another moment I heard the sound of quarrelling in the house
opposite. A woman was screaming, children were shrieking, and a man was
swearing in a thick hoarse voice.

I knew what had happened--it was midnight, the "public-houses had turned
out," and Mr. Wagstaffe had came home drunk.

The night passed heavily. I heard myself (as I had done before) calling
on Martin in a voice of wild entreaty:

"Martin! Martin!"

Then remembering that he was gone I began again to pray. I heard myself
praying to the Blessed Virgin:

"Oh, Mother of my God, let my child . . ."

But a voice which seemed to come from far away interrupted me.

"Hush, bach, hush! It will make it harder for thee."

At length peace came. It seemed to me that I was running out of a
tempestuous sea, with its unlimited loneliness and cruel depth, into a
quiet harbour.

There was a heavenly calm, in which I could hear the doctor and the
nurse and my Welsh landlady talking together in cheerful whispers.

I knew that everything was over, and with the memory of the storm I had
passed through still in my heart and brain. I said:

"Is it dead?"

"Dead?" cried the nurse in a voice several octaves higher than usual.
"Dear heart no, but alive and well. A beautiful little girl!"

"Yes, your baby is all right, ma'am," said the doctor, and then my Welsh
landlady cried:

"Why did'st think it would be dead, bach? As I am a Christian woman
thee'st got the beautifullest baby that ever breathed."

I could bear no more. The dark thoughts of the days before were over me
still, and with a groan I turned to the wall. Then everything was wiped
out as by an angel's wing, and I