"Little Nan is there," she said. "He is sitting by her; we cannot get him to leave her." Yes; he was sitting there in the same attitude in which they had left him, with the child's dead hand still clasped in his. At the sight of that bowed figure, that mute despair, the wife's heart woke into sudden life, and she walked feebly towards him. "Harry," she said, bursting into tears, and throwing her arms round his neck, "my poor Harry, it is our little child; mine as well as yours. We must comfort each other." CHAPTER XIII. "I KNEW YOU WOULD BE SORRY FOR US." "When they see her their tears will cease to flow, Lest they should fall on this pure pale brow, Or the lilies the child is holding. With symbol flowers in stainless hand, She goes by the great white throne to stand, Where Jesus His lambs is folding." _Helen Marion Burnside._ As the door closed upon the bereaved parents, Queenie heard a low "Thank God" behind her, and immediately afterwards Langley crept softly away. When Queenie went back to her, she found her lying on her bed shedding tears quietly. The strained and fixed expression of her face had relaxed; the worn nerves and brain had at last found relief. "Let me cry, it will do me good," she said, when the girl would have hushed her. "If you only knew how long it is since I have been able to shed a tear. I felt as though I were turning into stone. But now--ah, if she will only be good to him I think I could bear anything." Queenie was obliged to modify her opinion of Mrs. Chester as she watched her during the trying hours that followed. Whatever sins Gertrude had committed against her husband and child during their brief married life she felt must be partially condoned by her present self-forgetfulness. It may be doubted perhaps whether she had loved her child while it lived with a mother's strong passion. Certain words that little Nan had uttered in her baby language had given a contrary impression. "Mammie did say, 'Go away, Nan,'" she had observed more than once. "Mammie always so tired when Nan looks at her." Might it not have been that, absorbed in her own selfish repinings and discontent, she had refused to gather up the sweetness of that infant life into hers until it was too late? That she was suffering now, no one could doubt who looked at her. The father's heart might be broken within him, but his was the agony of bereavement. No self-reproach festered his wound; no bitterness of remorse was his. But who could measure the anguish of that unhappy mother? Queenie watched her half fascinated as she glided softly from place to place, a graceful, dark-eyed woman. The tall figure, once so full and commanding, was attenuated and bowed as though with weakness. Bright patches of color burnt on the thin cheeks: soft streaks of gray showed in the thick coils of hair; and how low and suffering were the once sharp, querulous tones.