Again her instinct served Ruth well. She rose stiffly and carried the baby across to the man.
“Would you mind holding him for a while? I’ve been still so long my muscles are stiff and numb.”
Grudgingly Falkner took the baby, but as the warm body of the sleeping child nestled close to him he felt once more that queer tug at his heart. A couple of inches of the fat, pink little legs were exposed where the dress had fallen back. The man’s rough forefinger touched the soft flesh gently. To the appeal of this amazing miracle—a helpless babe asleep in his arms—everything that was good and fine in him responded. He had lived a harsh and bitter life, he had cherished hatred and dwelt with his own evil imagination; but as he looked down and felt the clutch of those small fingers on his wrist the devil that had been in his eyes slowly vanished.
Ruth tramped the floor till the pin pricks and the numbness were gone from her limbs. Then she returned to her place against the wall back of the stove. Her eyes closed drowsily, opened again. She told herself that she must not fall asleep—dare not. Falkner was sitting motionless with Rowan in his arms, his whole attention on the child. The woman’s head nodded. She struggled to shake off the sleep that was stealing over her.
When she wakened it was broad day. A slant of sunshine made a ribbon of gold across the floor. Rowan was crying a little fretfully, and the convict was dancing him up and down as a diversion from his hunger.
CHAPTER XXXII
THE CLOUDS BREAK
“CAN’T you do something for this kid?” the man asked gruffly.
Ruth took the baby. “He’s hungry,” she said.