“And about that baby.”
Motionless, where it had been placed against the footrail of the bed, the baby sat with its black eyes closed. The small grey face was curled down on the bundle of its garments.
“It's a silent gentleman,” Martin muttered.
“It never was a one to cry,” said Mrs. Hughs.
“That's lucky, anyway. When did you feed it last?”
Mrs. Hughs did not reply at first. “About half-past six last evening, sir.”
“What?”
“It slept all night; but to-day, of course, I've been all torn to pieces; my milk's gone. I've tried it with the bottle, but it wouldn't take it.”
Martin bent down to the baby's face, and put his finger on its chin; bending lower yet, he raised the eyelid of the tiny eye....
“It's dead,” he said.