half unconscious, yet still possessed a dull
perception of the horror of my position, of the
dead weight lying partly upon me, of thick,
clammy blood on my face, my neck, my hands;
but I could not move nor cry out, nor do anything
to help myself.

At last I was aroused by an agonising voice —
my husband's — calling my name. I tried to
answer once, twice, in vain; the third time I
uttered a faint, inarticulate wail. He heard it,
and sprang in with a light. I could see there
was light; but it was blood-red through that
horrible veil, which prevented my seeing him or
anything else.

I remember his disengaging me from my fearful
burden. I remember hearing voices and
movements about me as I lay on the sofa, and
having my face sponged with warm water, and
being undressed and washed, helpless. Then
all is a blank to my mind, except dim dreadful
glimpses of delirious dreams, and an ever-
recurring vision of blood — the feel, the colour,
the smell, the very taste of blood, all things
that I touched or looked at turning to blood
beneath my hands and eyes.

At last I awoke in my right mind, and slowly
and wearily, and with many threats of relapse,
I recovered from the brain fever that had kept
me for many days and nights hovering on the
confines of death or madness. As soon as it
was possible to move me— for how could I
remain a day longer than was necessary in that
house?— I was taken into one in the town which
happened to be temporarily vacant, near Harry's
office, where he could come in and see me
constantly during the course of the day. One
great and hardly to be expected blessing and
comfort remained to me; my maternal hopes
were not destroyed. At length youth, and
strength, and tender nursing brought me round
again to certain degree, though I still continued
in a nervous state that the slightest cause
irritated to a terrible extent. Thus the time
went by till the day so longed for arrived.
I still looked for it as fearlessly and confidently as
of old, always having a feeling that the coming
event was to form a barrier between me and the
horrors that at times would come over me with
a shuddering terror; that that once passed I
should be delivered from them myself once
more, the present joy and triumph sweeping
all away before it.

It was at night that my child was born, and
his loud cries assured me at least of his life and
strength. But I was struck by an indescribable
something in the tone and looks of my old black
month-nurse and of the doctor, that disturbed
me. " It's a boy, nurse. He's all right, isn't
he?" "Yes, yes, missis, fine boy, all right."
"You're sure there's nothing wrong, eh?"
"Eh, missis! What should dere be wrong?
No, no, you on'y hear him cry, missis. Naughty
boy. Whip him well if he cry like dat; fret him
poor mamma, yes, indeed!" I was half pacified,
but not quite. " When may I see him, nurse?"

"By-and-by, all in good time. Now you keep
quiet, missis, or I send mas'r to scold you."

That night they would not let me see my
child, and next morning, when I asked for it on
waking, I was told it should be brought
presently; but the room must be made quite dark,
for it was suffering from a slight inflammation
of the eyes, a very common thing, the nurse and
doctor assured me, among children born in those
regions, but of no lasting importance if light
were excluded while it continued. "Then I
shall not see it?" "No; you must make up
your mind to that privation for a few days,"
the doctor said; "it is absolutely necessary."
I submitted with a sigh. I had already yielded
to the necessity — a real one, I knew — of getting
a native nurse for my child, European mothers
being hardly ever able to nurse their infants in
those climates without injury to both. It was
very hard, but I knew it was best for my boy it
should be so, and I must think, too, what was
best for me, for Harry's sake and the sakes of
the dear folks at home. Besides, life was sweet
again, and full of hope and promise.

Days, a week, went by, and I was getting on
famously; but still the state of my boy's eyes
kept up the necessity for the darkened chamber.
To think he was a week, a whole seven days old
and I had never set eyes on him! He lay beside
me, I felt him warm and soft, I heard his cries,
his breathing, and I had never had one glimpse
of the dear velvety face I kissed so often. It
was sadly tantalising. I questioned Harry about
him; surely he must have seen him once, at
least, the night of his birth? Was he pretty?
Dark, or fair? Who was he like? All in vain;
Harry said he was no judge of babies, he thought
they were never like anybody, and so on, till I
felt wounded and aggrieved, and turned away
sometimes to hide a foolish tear that would
trickle on the pillow. '

Three days later I awoke towards evening
from a sound sleep; I had had one or two wakeful
and restless nights, and in the afternoon had
dropped off into a profound slumber. I was
alone in the room; looking at my watch I found
it was the time the servants would be at their
tea. A sudden thought struck me. Could I not
creep gently into the next room, where baby
was, and by the dim light get a peep at him for
a moment as he slept? surely that could not
hurt him. I would shade his face so that only
the faintest light could come upon it, and for a
moment. I got up softly, softly stole into the
next room, giddy and trembling, but resolved.
I was surprised to find the room much less
darkened than I expected, but I saw that a veil
was thrown over the hood of the cradle which
stood between the two windows. Across the
floor I crept, my heart beating loudly; I drev
aside the veil, shading the light with my person.
What was that? Nurse's red handkerchief, she
had spread over the child's face, to keep out the
ight, doubtless; but enough to smother it. I
stooped to draw it aside, but something