Martha did not resist when Sarah lifted the child from her lap, only her eyes followed him with a strange gaze, and Mrs. Holdfast's own face changed; for the little fair head fell helplessly, and the long lashes lay upon cheeks of waxen whiteness.
Sarah checked the cry which rose to her lips. She turned to the fire, away from Martha.
"He don't wake up, not even for your taking him," said Millie. "He must be dreadful sleepy."
"He is—very sound," Mrs. Holdfast answered in trembling tones, as she pressed the tiny cold form more closely in her arms.
"Give him back to me!" demanded Martha hoarsely.
"No, my dear—take your tea first," said Mrs. Holdfast. "I'll lay him in his cot—just for—"
"No, no—give him to me! I won't have him laid—laid out—nowhere!" cried Martha, in a voice of sharp anguish. "Give my baby back to me!"
"I'll hold him for you. Just a minute or two. You take your tea and bread and butter. You must eat, you know."
Martha obeyed silently, rapidly. It was almost more than Sarah had ventured to hope. Tea and bread and butter alike vanished, and a faint tinge of colour came to Martha's lips. She was able now to stand up, with outstretched hands.
"Not yet," insisted Mrs. Holdfast. "You just put Millie and Bobbie to bed, and I'll see to him. Yes, do, my dear—it's best for you. Take them," pleaded the good woman.