“Well, now, give the boy another kiss,—for luck, you know,—and I’ll be going.”
The young woman rose feebly from her pillow and kissed the child; then she held up her trembling mouth for Margaret’s hearty farewell, and turning her face to the pillow, began to cry.
Margaret, who had been bundling the child away under her shawl, gave him another breath of air, and seating herself on the bed again, began to comfort that poor young creature, who was, in truth, about parting with her last friend. While she was bending over her in a fit of motherly compassion, a woman came into the ward accompanied by Jane Kelly and one of the young doctors, who had charge that day and was scarcely more than a student.
“Here is the child we were speaking of,” said Jane, coming up to the bed and turning back the blankets; “all the rest have some one to take care of them.”
She attempted to take the sleeping babe from the bed; but the young creature started up like a lioness, her face flushing hotly and her eyes dilating.
“What are you after—not my child! go away! go away!”
“Come, come, no nonsense. This woman has got her order,” said Jane Kelly; “give up the child and let’s hear no more of this. She is a first-class nurse and will be a mother to it.”
“Mother and father both,” sniffed the woman; but the young patient grew more and more frightened. Seeing no reason for hope in the woman, she turned to the doctor.
“Oh, doctor, don’t, don’t! it will kill me to part with him.”
Those great blue eyes deepened into the purple of a violet with sharp apprehension, and she clung to the child on her bosom in passionate resistance.