"She is asleep," said Phebe, in a strained voice, "let her alone just now," and quite hastily she put her arm over the child, drawing the shawl partly over its face. Nanna did not feel she had the heart to press her point, and left the room for a few minutes. On her return she said, "Phebe, dear, you must wake Queenie, she must have her milk; it will never do to neglect any effort. Let me have her for a few moments. I'll promise to wake her gently," and she held out her arms beseechingly. Phebe's answer was to strain the little form passionately to her breast. "Come, come," said Nanna, more firmly, "let me take her." "To wake her?" asked Phebe, looking at her with wild eyes. "Yes, there's a dear. You will be quite worn out." "She will never wake again," wailed Phebe, and then tears came to her relief, tears which in the first moments of her agony seemed to be freezing her life's blood. "Phebe! Phebe! Why did you not tell me before? Did you know that she was gone when I spoke to you before?" "Yes, but I could not let you have her, and I cannot let you have her now." She rose to go upstairs, still carrying the little cold form. "But I must have her, Phebe, dear," said Nanna, planting herself firmly in Phebe's way. "Surely, you will not take her from me yet! I cannot, oh, I cannot part with her. It is so hard! Oh, so hard!" "It is hard just now, darling, I know. Sit down again, and let us look at the sweet little face." Phebe did so. "And won't you really let me have her at all?" Nanna continued; "surely, you will!" and Phebe, pressing a passionate kiss on the cold brow, yielded, knowing that never again in this life would she hold that little form in her arms. Was it any wonder she was loth to part with it, when, however much her arms might ache for it in the future, she could never again press it to her heart! And then came days of darkness. Why had God allowed her child to be taken? He could not have prevented her husband's desertion without taking away his free will, but the child did not wish to leave her; why did not God touch her with His healing hand? Was not her lot hard enough without this last trial? Why did not God, to make up for the loss of husband, allow the child to remain? Would not an earthly loving father have done as much? These questionings would come, and her heart could find no answers--yet. And Nanna, who knew all about them, never chided. She just waited, knowing that ere long comfort _would_ come. "It was the sight of sorrow such as yours that made Jesus shed tears," she said one day. "It fair broke the blessed Lord down to see that woman Mary cry so, and to see the trouble death brings." "Then you don't think He's cross with me for fretting so?" asked Phebe, with some excitement. "Not a bit of it, dearie. He knows right well what a blow it has been to you, and sympathises with you; rest on that."