h mother and child. And what was
she to do, poor thing, in her hour of special trial and need?

Looking earnestly at her baby through her tears, she leaned eagerly and
breathlessly forward into the cradle. Was it gone? Was it really taken
from her? No; she could hear its disturbed breathing still. And then
as she knelt on, with clasped hands and throbbing heart, something
brought to her lips words of prayer: "O Lord! O Lord, have pity on me!
Oh, baby, baby!--don't take baby from me!"

Even that poor prayer gave her some relief, followed as it was by an
agony of weeping. Never had she uttered a word of prayer before since
the day she was married, and her own words startled her. Yet again and
again she felt constrained to make her simple supplication, pleading
earnestly for her baby's life with the God the reality of whose being
and power she now _felt_, spite of herself.

But what was that sound that made her spring up from her knees, and
listen with colourless cheeks and panting breath? She thought she heard
footsteps pass under the half-open window. There was no regular road at
the back of the house, but the premises could be approached in that
direction by a narrow path along the side of the hill which shut in the
buildings in the rear. Between the hill and the house was a back-yard
into which the parlour looked, and through this yard William would
sometimes come from his work; but ordinary visitors came to the front,
and trades-people to a side door on the left.

Could the footsteps have been those of her husband? And had he paused
to listen to her words of earnest and passionate prayer? If so, she
well knew what a torrent of ridicule and sarcastic reproach she must
prepare herself for. And yet the step did not sound like his. Alas!
she had learned to know it now too well! She dreaded it. There was no
music in it now for her. Perhaps she was mistaken. She listened
eagerly; all was still, and once more her eyes and heart turned towards
the little cradle, as the restless babe woke up with a start and a cry.
So again she knelt beside it, and, rocking it, gave free vent to her
tears, and to words of prayer, though uttered now more softly.

But there--there was that footstep again! There could be no mistake
about it now; and as certainly it was not her husband's tread. Annoyed
now that some intruder should be lurking about and listening to her
words, she was just going to ask angrily who was there