"Mother's man! Mother's own pretty—pretty—darling baby! Oh——"
An hour later, when he ventured to re-enter the room, he knew the one passionate outbreak signalled her final surrender. She had lifted the little wasted form from the bed and laid him in a coffin resting on a low table; covering all but the delicate, chiselled face and shining hair with a thick shroud of daisies.
Now, with hands locked in her lap, she sat leaning her head against the coffin. Tears he could not repress fell as the father bent down to the casket, but she put her arm across it, barring him.
"Don't! You must not touch my baby."
Sinking to his knees he put his hand on the fingers lying in her lap.
"Oh, Nona! Eleven years ago to-night!"
She pushed his hand aside, and when he bowed his head on her knee, she moved her chair back to avoid the touch.
"My wife——"
"No. I am no man's wife. I can't forget, and I don't wish to forgive, even if I could. I want you to understand that I would rather see my darling where he is than have him live for you to come between us. The Nona you knew died ten years ago, when insulted, and slandered, and despised I washed and ironed for money to clothe and feed my little fatherless one—my own beautiful little baby."
She laid her hand on the cold head and fondled the golden rings of hair, but no moisture dimmed the large, mournful eyes that defied her husband's pleading.