Part 21 (2/2)

He bent his head. Kissed the flushed, sweet little face he was cradling in the hollow of his arm. Then told the story of the birth of G.o.d's Little Boy; in a manner adapted to the little ears listening to it.

Her sleepiness grew; the blue eyes opened each time more reluctantly. As the little body lost its stiffness, he blue-pencilled the story down to the stage where G.o.d's Little Boy was lying asleep in the manger. And the watching angels--even as the narrator was--were continually saying:

”Hus-s-h!”

The fact that he repeated this part of the story again and again to bring in the soothing ”Hus-s-sh” pa.s.sed unnoticed by Gracie. Her eyes had closed; she was asleep. The doctor had said sleep would be her salvation.

The crucial time--midnight--and she slept!

CHAPTER XVII

THE Pa.s.sING OF THE NIGHT

The tone of the story-teller's voice had grown softer and softer; had dropped lower and lower; then stopped altogether.

The silence caused the woman, whose pent-up emotion had been finding vent in silent tears, to uplift her head. Her very soul was gladdened by the picture upon which her eyes rested.

The man had drawn the coverlet up so that it s.h.i.+elded the wearied little eyes from the light. Her child was asleep! Peacefully sleeping in the arms of Prince Charlie.

She had been kneeling with her face buried in her hands, on the same side of the bed as he sat. Now she had but to bend to reach his disengaged hand. The burning, feverish lips were pressed to it, with all the heartfelt fervour inspired by a mother's grat.i.tude: surely the very strongest inspiration in the world.

Ere she took her lips away he felt, drop--drop--drop. Three tears on his hand! Tears from the eyes of the woman to whom, in her grief, his heart opened. Despite the fact that he had thought it closed against her for ever.

His heart was very full just then. A veritable agony of love was in his eyes as he looked at her. Pa.s.sionate words were framed in his thoughts; rose to his lips and were choked back.

Except for that strained expression in his eyes, his face was calm as stone; the pallor likened it to marble. But the woman's head was bent; his suffering was unseen by her.

It pained him--her grat.i.tude. He had done so little to deserve it.

Indeed would have been a brute had he done less. No thanks were due to him; acceptance of them made him feel himself in a false position. But he could do nothing to restrain her--for fear of waking Gracie.

She moved a little away, glancing again at the sleeping child with a deep sigh of thankfulness. A slight movement of his head, a look in his eyes, beckoned her to come closer.

She understood. Noiselessly walked behind him; stood so, leaning over the bed rail. Her head was close to his, as he asked in an undertone:

”The medicine?”

”She should take it in two hours.”

”She must.”

He said that in a whisper, with a meaning glance at the child's flushed face.

”Will it be wise to awaken her?”

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