At last she came to a bed where a woman lay with a child on her arm, in the deepest and most deathly slumber that ever fell upon a human being who lived to see the daylight again. The plump, round face was white as snow under the voluminous ruffles of a cap, quilled like a dahlia and radiating round her head like a sun-flower. Purple shadows lay all around her closed eyes, and gave a deathly hue to her lips, which were just ajar, revealing the edges of strong, white teeth underneath. “What’s the matter here?” cried the terrified nurse, seizing Mrs. Dillon by the shoulders, and shaking her till the cap trembled in all its borders. Mary Margaret fell back heavily from those disturbing hands, but neither opened her eyes nor gave a struggle; her head descended like a log to the pillow, and one hand dropped over the side of the couch heavily, like the hand of a dead person. Jane Kelly’s exclamation had disturbed some of the sleepers nearest to Mrs. Dillon’s bed. One or two started up and cried out,— “What’s the matter? Dear me, what’s the matter?” “Nothing is the matter!” answered the nurse curtly, “only some sleep heavy and some don’t, that’s all.” Then the sleepers settled down to rest again, and Jane, after placing her hand on the woman’s chest to be sure that her heart was stirring, went hurriedly down the ward, so frightened by what she had seen, that she was ready to rush upon anything that was to come. She found a lovely young face nestled close down to the head of an infant, pale, certainly, but with the flush which lies in the heart of a white rose just dawning on her cheek, and a smile hovering around her faintly parted lips. Again Kelly uttered a cry of surprise—hushed on the moment of its outbreak—she stood over the young mother frightened and pallid, with the upper lip lifted from her teeth, like that of a dog who longs to snarl aloud and dares not. She looked around to make sure that none of the patients were watching her, then bent her head close to that smiling mouth, and listened for the breath which was so hateful to her. Yes, the girl breathed. Still the movement of her chest was almost imperceptible. The perfume of a flower could have been felt almost as distinctly as the respiration that kept the dew upon her lips. But Jane Kelly was too wise in her experience not to know that this was a healthful sleep; that the rich vitality of youth was there, and nothing baneful, as she had expected and hoped. The child stirred and dropped its little hand like a rose-leaf on that fair neck. Then the smile deepened, and the blue eyes opened. “Oh, you haven’t come to take him from me! he has been so good all night. Let him stay, let him stay, nurse!”