“But we cannot wait; we must go on our journey in another hour. And it will be to you only parting a little sooner; for her good too. You cannot be selfish where your dear child is concerned.”
“No, no, God knows I would suffer anything for her. I love her better than my own soul. But I cannot give her up till—I must. Have pity, have pity! she is all I have left—parents, sister, husband, home, all—everything gone but her—my precious, precious baby! Oh, don’t, don’t ask me to let her go from my arms while I live!” she pleaded in heart-broken accents, and with bitter sobs and tears.
“We would not if it could be helped,” sobbed Mrs. Kemper, “but it cannot; and for her sake you will give her to us now?”
Mr. Kemper joined his arguments and entreaties to those of his wife. They engaged to do all in their power for the well-being and happiness of the little one, treating her in every respect as if she were their own offspring, on the one condition that she should be given up entirely to them, never to be claimed by any one—even a near relative, or the mother herself, should she by any possibility survive.
Mr. Kemper had torn a leaf from his note-book, and, with pen and ink furnished by Irene, had drawn up a deed of gift to that effect, which he was urging the mother to sign.
“No, no! I can never, never agree to that!” she cried in reference to the last stipulation. “Live without my own precious child! never, never!”
“A mere form,” he said. “You cannot live many days, my good woman; do you not feel that it is so?”
She but clasped her child closer, while her whole frame shook with the violence of her emotion. She seemed almost ready to expire with the mental anguish superadded to her great physical prostration.
At length the distant rumble of an approaching train was heard.
“There, you have but a moment left for decision,” said the gentleman; “that is the train we must take. Will you sacrifice your child’s welfare or your own feelings?”