At this Edith drew herself up, the light on her countenance fading out. Then catching at the child's arm, she pulled the loose sleeve that covered it above the elbow with hands that shook like aspens. Another cry of joy broke from her as she saw a small red mark standing out clear from the snowy skin. She kissed it over and over again, sobbing,
“My baby! Yes, thank God! my own long-lost baby!”
And still the child showed no excitement, but lay very quiet, looking at Edith whenever he could see her countenance, the peace and rest on his face as unchanging as if it were not really a living and mobile face, but one cut into this expression by the hands of an artist.
“How shall you know?” asked Edith, now remembering the question of Mrs. Morton. And she drew up her own sleeve and showed on one of her arms a mark as clearly defined and bright as that on the child's arm.
No one sought to hinder Edith as she rose to her feet holding Andy, after she had wrapped the bed-clothes about him.
“Come!” she spoke to her friend, and moved away with her precious burden.
“You must go with us,” said Mrs. Morton to the physician.
They followed as Edith hurried down stairs, and entering the carriage after her, were driven away from the hospital.