Martha yielded again. She hurried the two children away, and saw them both in bed. Undressing did not take long, but Sarah was busy also during her short absence.
Harry's little cot had been much in the kitchen of late. He had slept away most of the day, often, in his growing weakness. When Martha returned, still with half-wild, half-dreamy eyes, she found Mrs. Holdfast standing beside the cot, and within lay Harry, prepared as if for the night. He had his little night-dress on, and the calm white baby-face rested peacefully on the pillow. The lips, just parted, were rigid in repose, and one wee waxen hand was crossed over the other.
"You've put him to bed," said Martha's hollow voice.
"Yes, my dear; I've put him to bed," said Sarah pityingly.
Martha came nearer, and gasped for breath, gazing upon the fair little image. Then her eyes went with passionate appeal to Sarah's.
"Poor thing!" murmured Sarah.
She hung over the cot, sobbing wildly.
"You think I don't know! But I do!" said Martha bitterly. "I do! I do! He's murdered! If ever anybody was murdered, it's my—" and then she broke into a bitter wail—"O my baby! My baby Harry!"
She hung over the cot, sobbing wildly, and Sarah's arm came round her in support.