She whispered into his ear: "I don't—think—I could ever—go—through it—again."
"Never again, my sweetheart," he whispered back.
She made a motion with her lips; he kissed them gently. "Good night," he murmured, "sleep well, poor little angel."
"She'll sleep," said the nurse unexpectedly, from near the fire. She was tending the baby now, and Osborn looked across at it in the subdued light. What a little mottled pink thing! What creases! What insignificance to have brought about all this!
"Look at your bonnie baby, Mr. Kerr," said the nurse, holding the mite aloft.
"Is that a bonnie baby?" said Osborn sourly.
"Osborn," whispered Marie from the bed, "he's a beautiful baby!"
Osborn looked down, startled, and saw in her wan face some glimmer of an unknown thing. She—she—was pleased with the baby! She admired and loved it!
He went out astonished.
The next morning, still flat on her pillows, she was nursing the baby with a smile on her mouth. Under her pink cap the faintest colour bloomed in her cheek; she asked for a fresh pink ribbon for her nightgown; she had slept peacefully. Some flowers were sent very early, with congratulations. They were from Rokeby and from Julia, and were arranged near her bed as she lay with this wonderful toy, this little new pet, Osborn's son, beside her. She had emerged out of her black darkness into light.