It was some time before the child could be quieted. The peevish little whine almost angered Noel when he saw how it was cutting into Christine's heart. In the hope of diverting the baby he put out his hand and began to snap his fingers softly in front of its face. There was a ring on the hand that sparkled, and the baby saw it and stretched out his little hand toward it. A gleam of pure delight came into the mother's face. "He hasn't noticed anything for days," she said, catching Noel's hand in an ardent grasp and holding it so that the baby could see the ring. He felt her fingers close upon it almost lovingly. He knew she could have kissed it, because it had for that second been of interest to her child--and with no knowledge that it was in any way different from the ring upon it. When the baby turned away from it fretfully she let it drop. At last the little invalid went to sleep in Christine's lap. The boat, which was not to land but went only for the excursion on the water, had turned and they were going back toward the city. The breeze that played around Christine's bent head blew little curly strands about her face and called a faint flush into her cheeks. Noel noted everything. Night began to draw on and she could no longer see the baby's face distinctly. She drew the end of a light shawl over him, saying as she did so: "The doctor says this is the best of all--the coming back in the fresh evening air." She sat up in her place then, and Noel could see that she kept her hand upon her baby's pulse. "Do you ever sing now?" he asked abruptly. She shook her head. "No--except little songs to baby." "I heard while I was in Europe of your making an immense hit in the amateur opera. Why did you stop?" "I was forced to. Those people compelled me. I don't know why, but they looked on me as something apart from them. The women were strange and unfriendly, and the men--I don't know," she broke off confusedly, "but it is all hateful to me to think of. I was glad to get away from them. The night of the opera was the last time. Oh, if my baby will get well," she said, bending to touch his thin hair with her lips, "I will never need anything but him. You believe in prayer--don't you? Will you pray to God to make him well?"