"Don't cry, mother," said Esther; "the Lord will watch over us, and we shall both pray for each other. In about a month, dear, we shall be both quite well, and you'll bless my baby, and I shall think of the time when I shall put him into your arms."
"I hope so, Esther; I hope so, but I am full of fears. I'm sore afraid that we shall never see one another again—leastways on this earth."
"Oh, mother, dear, yer mustn't talk like that; you'll break my heart, that you will."
The cab that took Esther to her lodging cost half-a-crown, and this waste of money frightened her thrifty nature, inherited through centuries of working folk. The waste, however, had ceased at last, and it was none too soon, she thought, as she sat in the room she had taken near the hospital, in a little eight-roomed house, kept by an old woman whose son was a bricklayer.
It was at the end of the week, one afternoon, as Esther was sitting alone in her room, that there came within her a great and sudden shock—life seemed to be slipping from her, and she sat for some minutes quite unable to move. She knew that her time had come, and when the pain ceased she went downstairs to consult Mrs. Jones.
"Hadn't I better go to the hospital now, Mrs. Jones?"
"Not just yet, my dear; them is but the first labour pains; plenty of time to think of the hospital; we shall see how you are in a couple of hours."
"Will it last so long as that?"
"You'll be lucky if you get it over before midnight. I have been down for longer than that."
"Do you mind my stopping in the kitchen with you? I feel frightened when
I'm alone."