o, no!" she answered, relaxing her hold and gazing
down upon Andy as she let him fall away from her bosom. Then lifting her
eyes to the physician, her face so flooded with love and inexpressible
joy that it seemed like some heavenly transfiguration, she murmured, in
a low voice full of the deepest tenderness,

"Oh no. I will not do my baby any harm."

"My dear, dear friend," said Mrs. Morton, recovering from the shock of
her first surprise and fearing that Edith had suddenly lost her mind,
"you cannot mean what you say;" and she reached down for the child and
made a movement as if she were going to lift him away from her arms.

A look of angry resistance swept across Edith's pale face. There was a
flash of defiance in her eyes.

"No, no! You must not touch him," she exclaimed; "I will die before
giving him up. My baby!"

And now, breaking down from her intense excitement, she bent over
the child again, weeping and sobbing. Waiting until this paroxysm had
expended itself, Mrs. Morton, who had not failed to notice that Andy
never turned his eyes for an instant away from Edith, nor resisted her
strained clasp or wild caresses, but lay passive against her with a look
of rest and peace in his face, said,

"How shall we know that he is your baby?"

At this Edith drew herself up, the light on her countenance fading
out. Then catching at the child's arm, she pulled the loose sleeve that
covered it above the elbow with hands that shook like aspens. Another
cry of joy broke from her as she saw a small red mark standing out clear
from the snowy skin. She kissed it over and over again, sobbing,

"My baby! Yes, thank God! my own long-lost baby!"

And still the child showed no excitement, but lay very quiet, looking at
Edith whenever he could see her countenance, the peace and rest on his
face as unchanging as if it were not really a living and mobile face,
but one cut into this expression by the hands of an artist.

"How shall you know?" asked Edith, now remembering the question of Mrs.
Morton. And she drew up her own sleeve and showed on one of her arms a
mark as clearly defined and bright as that on the child's arm.

No one sought to hinder Edith as she rose to her feet holding Andy,
after she had wrapped the bed-clothes about him.

"Come!" she spoke to her friend, and moved away with her precious
burden.

"You must go with us," said Mrs. Morton to the physician.

They followed as Edith hurried down stairs, and ent