Soon after, removing the shawl from the little one's face, she said, "Kiss your baby, Harry."
His lips touched the little face.—It was very cold. He started back, and, taking the child from its mother's arms, he held it near the firelight.—It was dead!
As they looked across the little limp body into each other's eyes with speechless agony, Ram Deen bent over them and took the little one tenderly from the captain's hands.
"Attend to the living, sahib; I will see to thy dead," he said, softly.
He turned away his face from the sorrow that was too sacred to be witnessed by any one save God.
As Captain Barfield folded his young wife in his arms, a deep groan rent his breast at the thought of his folly and its consequence.
"Thou wert very tender—a mere blossom—and the frost withered thee," said Ram Deen very gently, composing the baby's limbs.