Once again she laid it on the bed, and now she piled warm blankets over the little body, and put a hot bottle, which she had previously got ready, to the feet. Then, going to the dressing-room, she brought away a small box which contained capsules of amyl nitrite. She broke one of the capsules in a handkerchief, and, holding it close to the nostrils of the child, a strong and pungent odor filled the room. The face of the dead underwent no perceptible change at first, but then the faint color in the cheeks increased. A look of triumph filled the nurse’s eyes. “Good!” she cried. “It is all right. I thought I could do it, and I have. Dr. Tarbot imagined he would be even with me. He is not; I am his master. What is about to happen to-night will come upon him as a blow when he least expects it. Yes, all is well; I feather my own nest; I receive that reward for which I have lost my soul. I prepare for the evil day. I know what I am about.” As these thoughts flew through the woman’s mind she went over to the wicker trunk at the other end of the room and opened it. The trunk was of a peculiar shape—much longer than is ordinarily made. From this receptacle she took out bales of cotton wool and several iron weights. She wrapped the wool round the weights and filled the coffin with them. When she had put in enough wool and iron to make up the probable weight of the child, she screwed on the lid again, and having done so, bent over the little body. The color was still in the cheeks, although the cheeks were cold, and the eyes remained firmly shut. Not a breath passed the lips, not a movement was apparent; still, the woman felt quite satisfied. She gave a further sigh of intense relief, and throwing an eider-down quilt over the blankets, left the room, taking good care to lock the door of the chamber of death after her. She went the entire length of a long corridor and paused outside Mrs. Pelham’s room. The other nurse had arrived and was already in charge. Barbara Evershed was standing near the door. Barbara had seen the undertaker’s men bringing up the little coffin, and her eyes were red from a fresh burst of tears. “I shall leave to-night,” said Nurse Ives, pausing and looking full into the girl’s face. “Will you see Mrs. Pelham?” asked Barbara. “It will not be necessary; but if she wishes I will go in and say good-by to her.” “I am sure she would like it; but first a word. Nurse, I saw the coffin brought up-stairs.” “Yes, my dear, yes,” said Nurse Ives. She did not touch Barbara, but she looked at her with a curious expression. “The coffin has arrived and I put the child in.” “I should like to see him once again,” said Barbara. “You cannot. The lid is screwed on the coffin.” Barbara’s face flushed. “Was that necessary?” she asked. “Yes; it was indispensable. I will speak to Dr. Tarbot on the subject when he next calls. It would not have been safe for you to see the little corpse again.” Barbara was silent for a moment.