"And of the Huly Ghost," whispered Tess.
"Amen" rolled from a hundred tear-choked throats, like the distant murmuring of the sea. Hopkins sat down, saying no more.
Minister Graves had sunk into his chair, and on the girl's last words the congregation drew a long, gasping breath. The eyes of the babe gazed steadily on into the shadows of eternal silence; the water seemingly unfelt upon its head. The small boy was slipping away to that place of mystery where his father, Myra and Ben Letts had gone. The long days of suffering with the child in the hut rushed over Tess. She dropped on her knees, facing the pulpit, and hugged him to her breast, and whispered,
"Suffer little children to come unto me—"
Then another voice, shrill, sobbing and terrible, hushed her prayer. The squatter instinctively shifted her position toward the Dominie's pew. Teola Graves was standing up, tall and pale, and was looking directly at the minister.
"Father," she cried, "Father, if you don't take the baby and baptize him in the name of the Saviour, you will consign to everlasting darkness—" She lost her breath, caught it again, and finished, "your own flesh and blood. God! dear God, take us both to Dan!... Tessibel, Tessibel, give me my baby!"
She wrenched herself loose from Frederick's detaining fingers, and was in the aisle before her brother realized what had happened.
"He's my baby," she cried, between the spasmodic pressures upon her chest. "Tess! Tess, is he dead?"
"Yep, he air dead," fell from Tessibel; for she had seen the large, glazed eyes draw in at the corners and the little face blanch. The tiny spirit fled as the frantic girl-mother clasped her babe to her breast.
"But he air gone to his pappy," consoled the squatter.