The mother walked to the side, of the cot, and appeared to be regarding the features of her sleeping babe, but she was in reality endeavouring to hide the expression of terror which she felt was upon her face.
The men raised the torches they carried high above their heads, and glanced round the miserable apartment.
“Open that cupboard,” said one.
It was opened and then shut again.
“Move that cot,” cried he who appeared to be in authority.
“No,” cried the mother, suddenly looking up, “do your duty in discovering the criminal, but do not in doing it commit a needless act of cruelty.”
“Cruelty!”
“Yes; you see my babe is sleeping. Why move his cot and awaken him? He has been ill. The fever spot is still upon his cheek. The quiet slumber he is now enjoying is the first he has had for many weary nights and days. How could a murderer hide with a sleeping child? Some of you perhaps have little ones of your own, if you have, you will think of them, and not harm mine.”
“Was it you singing just now?“ asked the officer.
“It was. My voice, I think, soothes him, even in sleep. Hush! Do not speak so loud, or you will wake him.”