A moment later the doctor's footsteps were heard on the stone stairs. They were hesitating, halting, dragging footsteps. Then the doctor entered my father's room. Even in the sullen light of the peat fire his face was white, ashen white. He did not speak at first, and there was an instant of silence, dead silence. Then my father said:
"Well, what is it?"
"It is . . ."
"Speak man! . . . Do you mean it is . . . dead?"
"No! Oh no! Not that."
"What then?"
"It is a girl."
"A gir . . . Did you say a girl?"
"Yes.
"My God!" said my father, and he dropped back into the chair. His lips were parted and his eyes which had been blazing with joy, became fixed on the dying fire in a stupid stare.