cut off the view, but only to
slide an arm under mattress and pillow and raise her a little so that
she could see. And then, under her eyes, dark red and hairy against the
whiteness of the pillow, were two small heads--two small shapeless
masses leading away from them, twitching, squirming. She stared,
bewildered.

"There were twins, Rose," she heard Rodney explaining triumphantly, but
still with something that wasn't quite a laugh, "a boy and a girl.
They're perfectly splendid. One weighs seven pounds and the other six."

Her eyes widened and she looked up into his face so that the pitiful
bewilderment in hers was revealed to him.

"But the _baby!_" she said. Her wide eyes filled with tears and her
voice broke weakly. "I wanted a baby."

"You've got a baby," he insisted, and now laughed outright. "There are
two of them. Don't you understand, dear?"

Her eyes drooped shut, but the tears came welling out along her lashes.
"Please take them away," she begged. And then, with a little sob she
whispered, "I wanted a baby, not those."

Rodney started to speak, but some sort of admonitory signal from the
nurse silenced him.

The nurse went away with her bundle, and Rodney stayed stroking her limp
hand.

In the dark, ever so much later, she awoke, stirred a little restlessly,
and the nurse, from her cot, came quickly and stood beside her bed. She
had something in her hands for Rose to drink, and Rose drank it
dutifully.

"Is there anything else?" the nurse asked.

"I just want to know," Rose said; "have I been dreaming, or is it true?
Is there a baby, or are there twins?"

"Twins, to be sure," said the nurse cheerfully. "The loveliest,
liveliest little pair you ever saw."

"Thank you," said Rose. "I just wanted to know."

She shut her eyes and pretended to go to sleep. But she didn't. It was
true then. Her miracle, it seemed somehow, had gone ludicrously awry.

CHAPTER XIV

THE DAM GIVES WAY

She began getting her strength back very fast after the next two or
three days, but this queer kink in her emotions didn't straighten out.
She came to see that it was absurd--monstrous almost, but that didn't
help. Instead of a baby, she had given birth to two. They were hers of
course, as much as one would have been. Only, her soul, which had been
waiting so ecstatically for its miracle--for the child which, by making
her a mother, should supply what her life needed--her soul
wouldn't--couldn't accept the sub