for how long? some minutes, half a lifetime. Then
another sound. Oh, God in heaven! had she gone distracted, the innocent
creature, the young mother, in her anguish? She began to sing--a few low
notes, a little lullaby, in a voice ineffable, indescribable, not like
any mortal voice. One of the women burst out into a wail--it was the
child's nurse--and tried to take him from the mother's arms. The other
took her by the shoulders and turned her away. "What does it matter, a
few minutes more or less; she'll come to herself soon enough, poor
dear," said the attendant with a sob. Thus the group was diminished. Sir
Tom stood with one hand on his wife's chair, his face covered with the
other, and in his heart the bitterness of death; Bice had dropped down
on her knees by the side of that pathetic group; and in the midst sat
the mother bent over, almost enfolding the child, cradling him in her
own life. Bice was herself not much more than a child; to her all things
were possible--miracles, restorations from the dead. Her eyes were full
of tears, but there was a smile upon her quivering mouth. It was at her
Lucy looked, with eyes full of something like that "awful rose of dawn"
of which the poet speaks. They were dilated to twice their natural size.
She made a slight movement, opening to Bice the little face upon her
bosom, bidding her look as at a breathless secret to be kept from all
else. Was it a reflection or a faint glow of warmth upon the little worn
cheek? The eyes were no longer open, showing the white, but closed, with
the eyelashes shadowing against the cheek. There came into Lucy's eyes a
sort of warning look to keep the secret, and the wonderful spectacle
was, as it were, closed again, hidden with her arms and bending head.
And the soft coo of the lullaby went on.

Presently the women stole back, awed and silenced, but full of a
reviving thrill of curiosity. The elder one, who was from the hospital
and prepared for everything, drew nearer, and regarded with a
scientific, but not unsympathetic eye, the mother and the child. She
withdrew a little the shawl in which the infant was wrapped, and put her
too-experienced, instructed hands upon his little limbs, without taking
any notice of Lucy, who remained passive through this examination. "He's
beautiful and warm," said the woman, in a wondering tone. Then Bice rose
to her feet with a quick sudden movement, and went to Sir Tom and drew
his hand from his face. "He is not