An hour later, and the sweet little creature, which had been a sunbeam in that house for a few happy days, lay upon the bed where Katy said it must be laid; its form shrouded in the christening robe which Grandma Cameron had bought, flowers upon its pillow, flowers upon its bosom, flowers in its hands, which Marian had put there; for Marian’s was the mind which thought of everything concerning the dead child; and Helen, as she watched her, wondered at the mighty love which showed itself in every lineament of her face, the blue veins swelling in her forehead, her eyes bloodshot, and her lips shut firmly together, as if it were by mere strength of will that she kept back the scalding tears as she dressed the little Genevra.  They spoke of that name in the kitchen when the first great shock was over, and Helen explained why it had been Katy’s choice.  Poor stricken Katy, it was Morris’ task to comfort her—­Morris, who sat by her holding the hot, feverish hand she had placed in his, and telling her of the blessed Savior who loved the little children while here on earth, and to whom her darling had surely gone.

“Safe in His arms it would not come back if it could,” he said, “and neither would you have it.”

But Katy was the mother, and human love could not so soon submit, but went out after the lost one with a piteous agonizing wail, which hurt Morris cruelly.

“Oh, I want my baby back.  I know she is safe, but I want her back.  She was my life—­all I had to love,” Katy moaned, rocking to and fro in this first hour of her bereavement.

“You forget your husband,” Morris said.  “You have him left, and husbands, I supposed, were dearer than one’s children.”

“Yes,” Katy answered, “I have Wilford, and am glad of that; but he will blame me so much for bringing baby here to die.  He will say it was my fault; and that I can’t bear.  I know it was, know I killed my baby; but I did not mean to.  I would give my life for hers, if like her I was ready,” and into Katy’s face there came a look of fear which Morris failed to understand, not knowing Wilford as well as Katy knew him.

Surely no man could reproach the half-crazed creature, who all that night sat by the bedside of her dead child, sleeping a little in her chair, but obtaining no real rest, so that by the morning her face was like some white rose on which a fierce storm has beaten, breaking off its petals and crushing out its life.  At nine o’clock there came to her a telegram.  Wilford had reached New York and would be in Silverton that afternoon, accompanied by Bell.  At this last Marian Hazelton caught eagerly as an excuse for what she intended doing.  She could not remain there after Wilford came, nor was it necessary.  Her task was done, or would be when she had finished the wreath and cross of flowers she was making for the coffin.  Laying them on baby’s pillow, Marian went in quest of Helen, to whom she explained that as Bell Cameron was coming, and the house would be full, she had decided upon going to West Silverton, especially as she wished to see the lady with whom she once boarded, and who had been so kind to her.