But the dull stupor which succeeded swept all hope away, and again Katy resumed her post, watching first her dying child, and then the long hands of the clock which crept on so slowly, pointing to only two when she thought it must be five. Would that hour never come, or coming, would it find baby there? None could answer that last question—they could only wait and pray; and as they waited the warm September sun neared the western sky till its yellow beams came stealing through the window and across the floor to where Katy sat watching its onward progress, and looking sometimes out upon the hills where the purplish autumnal haze was lying just as she once loved to see it. But she did not heed it now, nor care how bright the day with the flitting shadows dancing on the grass, the tall flowers growing by the door, and old Whitey standing by the gate, his head stretched towards the house in a kind of dreamy, listening attitude, as if he, too, knew of the great sorrow hastening on so fast. The others saw all this, and it made their hearts ache more as they thought of the beautiful little child going from their midst when they wished so much to keep her. Katy had only one idea, and that was of the child, growing very restless now, and throwing up its arms as if in pain. It was striking five, and with each stroke the dying baby moaned, while Katy strained her ear to catch the sound of horses’ hoofs hurrying up the road. The clergyman had come and the inmates of the house gathered round in silence, while he made ready to receive the child into Christ’s flock. Mrs. Lennox had questioned Helen about the name, and Helen had answered, “Katy knows, I presume. It does not matter,” but no one had spoken directly to Katy, who had scarcely given it a thought, caring more for the rite she had deferred so long. “He must hasten,” she said to Morris, her eyes fixed upon the panting child she had lifted to her own lap, and thus adjured the clergyman failed to make the usual inquiry concerning the name he was to give. Calm and white as a marble statue, Marian Hazelton glided to the back of Katy’s chair, and pressing both her hands upon it, leaned over Katy so that her eyes, too, were fixed upon the little face, from which they never turned but once, and that when the clergyman’s voice was heard asking for a _name_. There was an instant’s silence, and Katy’s lips began to move, when one of Marian’s hands was laid upon her head, while the other took in its own the limp, white baby fingers, and Marian’s voice was very steady in its tone as it said, “GENEVRA.” “Yes, Genevra,” Katy whispered, and the solemn words were heard, “_Genevra_, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”