Cuckoo looked at the child wildly for a moment, as the little laughing face came within the radius of her fading sight. She suffered the cool, flower-like cheek to touch hers, but then she whispered to her husband, "Take him away. I want only you."
He took Arty back to his nurse, holding him closely to him, and returned to her.
Death seemed to have advanced a step nearer with the advent of the child.
They both waited for it in silence.
"Don't kneel, Arthur," said Cuckoo at last. "You will be so tired."
He obediently drew up a little stool, and crouched hunched up upon it, her cold hand between his cold hands.
"Is there any one at the door?" she asked, after an age of silence.
"No one, dearest; we are quite alone."
"I should like to see Janet to say 'good-bye.'"