Awdrey managed to retain one of the small hands in his. The child quieted down then, gave him a look of long, unutterable love, and about six in the morning, twenty-four hours after the seizure had declared itself, the little spirit passed away. Awdrey, who was kneeling by the child's cot, still holding his hand, did not know when this happened. There was a sudden bustle round the bed, he raised his head with a start, and looked around him. "What is the matter? Is he better?" he asked. He looked anxiously at the sunken face of the dead child. He noticed that the hurried breathing had ceased. "Come away with, me, Robert," said his wife. "Why so?" he asked. "Do you think I will leave the child?" "Darling, the child is dead." Awdrey tottered to his feet. "Dead!" he cried. "You don't mean it--impossible." He bent over the little body, pulled down the bedclothes, and put his hand to the heart, then bending low he listened intently for any breath to come from the parted lips. "Dead--no, no," he said again. "My poor fellow, it is too true," said Dr. Rumsey. "Then before God," began Awdrey--he stepped back, the words were arrested on his lips, and he fell fainting to the floor. Dr. Rumsey had him removed to his own room, and with some difficulty the unhappy man was brought back to consciousness. He was now lying on his bed. "Where am I?" he asked. "In your room, on your bed. You are better now, dearest," said Margaret. She bent over him, trying valiantly to conceal her own anguish in order to comfort him. "But what has happened?" he asked. He suddenly sat up. "Why are you here, Rumsey? Margaret, why are your eyes so red?" Margaret Awdrey tried to speak, but the words would not come to her lips. Rumsey bent forward and took Awdrey's hand. "It has pleased Providence to afflict you very sorely, my poor fellow," he said, "but I know for your wife's sake you will be man enough to endure this fearful blow with fortitude." "What blow, doctor?" "Your child," began the doctor. "My child?" said Awdrey. He put his feet on the floor, and stood up. There was a strange note of query in his tone. "My child?" he repeated. "What child?" "Your child is dead, Awdrey. We did what we could to save him." Awdrey uttered a wild laugh. "Come, this is too much," he exclaimed. "You talk of a child of mine--I, who never had a child. What are you dreaming about?" CHAPTER XV. On the evening of that same day Awdrey entered the room where his wife was silently giving way to her bitter anguish. She was quite overcome by her grief--her eyelids were swollen by much weeping, her dress was disarranged, the traces of a sleepless night, and the fearful anguish through which she was passing, were visible on her beautiful face. Awdrey, who had come into the room almost cheerfully, started and stepped back a pace or two when he saw her--he then knit his brows with marked irritation.