“You’ve not told me yet if it’s a boy or a girl; tell me, Eddie, you know.” Edward looked uneasily at the doctor. “It’s a boy,” said Dr. Ramsay. “I knew it would be,” she murmured. An expression of ecstatic pleasure came into her face, chasing away the grayness of death. “I’m so glad. Have you seen it, Eddie?” “Not yet.” “It’s our child, isn’t it? It’s worth going through the pain to have a baby. I’m so happy.” “You must go to sleep now.” “I’m not a bit sleepy--and I want to see my boy.” “No, you can’t see him now,” said Dr. Ramsay, “he’s asleep, and you mustn’t disturb him.” “Oh, I should like to see him, just for one minute. You needn’t wake him.” “You shall see him after you’ve been asleep,” said the doctor, soothingly. “It’ll excite you too much.” “Well, you go in and see him, Eddie, and kiss him, and then I’ll go to sleep.” She seemed so anxious that at least its father should see his child, that the nurse led Edward into the next room. On a chest of drawers was lying something covered with a towel. This the nurse lifted, and Edward saw his child; it was naked and very small, hardly human, repulsive, yet very pitiful. The eyes were closed, the eyes that had never been opened. Edward looked at it for a minute. “I promised I’d kiss it,” he whispered. He bent down and touched with his lips the white forehead; the nurse drew the towel over the body, and they went back to Bertha. “Is he sleeping?” she asked. “Yes.” “Did you kiss him?” “Yes.” Bertha smiled. “Fancy your kissing baby before me.” But Dr. Ramsay’s draught was taking its effect, and almost immediately Bertha fell into a pleasant sleep. “Let’s take a turn in the garden,” said Dr. Ramsay. “I think I ought to be here when she wakes.” * * * * * The air was fresh, scented with the spring flowers and the odour of the earth. Both men inspired it with relief after the close atmosphere of the sick-room. Dr. Ramsay put his arm in Edward’s. “Cheer up, my boy,” he said. “You’ve borne it all magnificently. I’ve never seen a man go through a night like this better than you; and upon my word, you’re as fresh as paint this morning.” “Oh, I’m all right,” said Edward. “What’s to be done about--about the baby?” “I think she’ll be able to bear it better after she’s had a sleep. I really didn’t dare say it was still-born. The shock would have been too much for her.” They went in and washed and ate, then waited for Bertha to wake. At last the nurse called them. “You poor things,” cried Bertha, as they entered the room. “Have you had no sleep at all?... I feel quite well now, and I want my baby. Nurse says it’s sleeping and I can’t have it--but I will. I want it to sleep with me, I want to look at my son.” Edward and the nurse looked at Dr. Ramsay, who for once was disconcerted. “I don’t think you’d better have him to-day, Bertha,” he said. “It would upset you.” “Oh, but I must have my baby. Nurse, bring him to me at once.”