“What’s to be done?” said the husband. “What’s to be done, dear?⁠ ⁠…”

“Ah! Don’t⁠ ⁠… don’t!” cried she; and there was a note of anger or reproach in her voice as she suddenly turned back to the nursery.

Her husband tried to stop her.

“Kitty, don’t go there⁠ ⁠…”

She glanced at him with large, weary eyes, and, without answering, entered the nursery.

The boy lay in his nurse’s arms, a white pillow under his head. His eyes were open, but he did not see with them; and from his closed lips came bubbles of foam. The nurse sat with stern and solemn mien, looking across him, and did not move when the mother entered. Only when the latter came close to her and put her hand under the pillow to take the child, the nurse said gently: