Miss Quiney (listening). Hush!
Mrs. Josselin (not hearing, immersed in her own mental flow). If you call a child by a sorrowful name it's apt to ward off the ill-luck. Look at Ruth now—christened in sorrow an' married, after all, to the richest in the land!
Miss Quiney (in desperation). Oh, hush! hush!
A low moan comes from the next room. The women sit silent, their faces white in the dawn that now comes stealing in at the window, conquering the candle-light by little and little.
Mrs. Strongtharm. I thought I heard a child's cry. . . . They cry at once.
Miss Quiney. Ah? I fancied it, too—a feeble one.
Mrs. Strongtharm (rising after a long pause). Something is wrong. . . .
As she goes to listen at the door, it opens, and the man-midwife enters. His face is grave.
Mrs. Strongtharm and Miss Quiney ask him together, under their breath—Well?
He answers: It is well. We have saved her life, I trust.