Hilda took the little hand and stroked it. "Chris darling," she said, "do you know what is the matter with you?"
The quick blood rushed up over the pale face, spread to the temples, and then faded utterly away. "Yes," whispered Chris.
Hilda leaned down, and very tenderly kissed her. "I felt sure you did.
And that's why you will make an effort to get strong, isn't it, dear? It
isn't as if it were just for your own sake any more. You will try, my own
Chris?"
But Chris turned her face away with quivering lips. "I think—and I hope—that I shall die," she said.
"Chris, my darling—"
"Yes," Chris insisted. "If it shocks you I can't help it. I don't want to live, and I don't want my child to live, either. Life is too hard. If—if I had had any choice in the matter, I would never have been born. And so if I die before the baby comes, it is the best thing that could possibly happen for either of us. And I think—I think"—she hesitated momentarily before a name she had not uttered for weeks—"Trevor would say the same."
"My dear child, I am quite sure he wouldn't!" Hilda spoke with most unaccustomed vigour. "I am quite sure that if he knew of this, he would be with you to-day."
"Oh no, indeed!" Chris said. She spoke quite quietly, with absolute
conviction. "You don't know him, Hilda. You only judge him from outside.
If he knew—well, yes, he might possibly think it his duty to be near me.
But not because he cared. You see—he doesn't. His love is quite dead.
And"—she began to shiver—"I don't like dead things; they frighten me.
So you won't let anyone tell him; promise me!"
"But, my dear, he would love the child—his child," urged Hilda softly.
"Oh, that would be worse!" Chris turned sharply from her. "If he loved the child—and—and—hated the mother!"