Softly the baptismal waters fell upon the pale forehead, and at their touch the little Genevra’s eyes unclosed, the waxen fingers withdrew themselves from Marian’s grasp, and again sought the mother’s cheek, resting there for an instant; while a smile broke around the baby’s lips, which tried to say “Mam-ma.” Then the hand fell back, down upon Marian’s, the soft eyes closed, the limbs grew rigid, the shadow of death grew deeper, and while the prayer was said, and Marian’s tears fell with Katy’s upon the brow where the baptismal waters were not dried, the angel came, and when the prayer was ended, Morris, who knew what the rest did not, took the lifeless form from Katy’s lap, and whispered to her gently, “Katy, your baby is dead!” An hour later, and the sweet little creature, which had been a sunbeam in that house for a few happy days, lay upon the bed where Katy said it must be laid; its form shrouded in the christening robe which grandma Cameron had bought, flowers upon its pillow, flowers upon its bosom, flowers in its hands, which Marian had put there; for Marian’s was the mind which thought of everything concerning the dead child; and Helen, as she watched her, wondered at the mighty love which showed itself in every lineament of her face, the blue veins swelling in her forehead, her eyes bloodshot, and her lips shut firmly together, as if it were by mere strength of will that she kept back the scalding tears as she dressed the little _Genevra_. They spoke of that name in the kitchen when the first great shock was over, and Helen explained why it had been Katy’s choice. It was Morris’s task to comfort poor, stricken Katy, telling her of the blessed Saviour who loved the little children while here on the earth, and to whom her darling had surely gone. “Safe in His arms, it would not come back if it could,” he said, “and neither would you have it.” But Katy was the mother, the human love could not so soon submit, but went out after the lost one with a piteous, agonizing wail. “Oh, I want my baby back. I know she is safe, but I want her back. She was my life—all I had to love,” Katy moaned, rocking to and fro in this her first hour of bereavement, “and Wilford will blame me so much for bringing my baby here to die. He will say it was my fault; and that I can’t bear. I know I killed my baby; but I did not mean to. I would give my life for hers, if like her I was ready,” and into Katy’s face there came a look of fear which Morris failed to understand, not knowing Wilford as well as Katy knew him.