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Rh ing in the dining-room. Mary the cook sat there with her apron to her eyes, mumbling a prayer. He looked at her with terrified eyes.

"You don't think she's going to die, do you?" he said angrily.

"Oh, no, Heaven forbid, but it do be so long," gasped the girl.

He went back and waited outside the door. He heard the doctor's voice, now quick and brusque, as he gave an order; now curiously gentle, as though he spoke to a child. … All night she had not made a sound of pain. And, now, when the chloroform had put her will to sleep, and the voice began, Basil thought at first it was some animal crying in the street. It was with a horrible leap of the heart that he realised it—that was Teresa's voice. It sounded to him as though it came from far away—a wail from some cruel dark world of woe and anguish. And it went on and on. …

Then came a shrill scream that seemed to tear the heart out of his breast—another—and another. Then silence. … He leaned against the door, faint with terror.

The nurse came out to him, after a time and said smiling, "You have a fine boy." He seized both her hands and began to weep hysterically. … Later, they let him in to see Teresa. She lay with her eyes closed. His tears fell on her hands. She murmured: