At last there was a movement, and a faint sigh as the sleeper awoke.  Bella, by a kind of instinctive movement, rose, and holding out her arms, took the baby that the nurse might be at liberty to attend to the mother.  It was a strange moment.  The little creature had ceased moaning, and lay quite tranquil, its tiny face looking whiter and more wax-like under the shadow of the heavy crape veil which hung partly over it.  It even seemed to nestle closer to the heart through which its touch sent so keen a stab of pain, and the young widow bent low over it as her eyes were blinded for an instant by a vision of what might have been.  What might have been!  The happiness she had just begun to taste, the hope that would have made her future bright, had been crushed together by this child’s father—­yet the frail little creature lay tenderly cradled in her arms.  She looked at it; she touched the soft cheek with her cold and trembling lips; she seemed by her own will to press the sting through and through her heart; and as she did so, she saw and accepted her part in life—­to have henceforth no individual existence, but to fill her solitary days with thoughts of charity, and to draw from the recollection of her own anguish the means of consolation for the griefs of others.

Lucia turned away.  She guessed something, though but little, of her friend’s thoughts, and moved towards the bed, to be ready to speak to Mrs. Clarkson.  The little girl, released by her mother’s waking, slipped down, and joined her brother, and Lucia, seeing herself perceived, went round to the place she had occupied.

“I do not know whether you know me, Mrs. Clarkson,” she said.  “I am Lucia Costello.  Doctor Hardy told my mother of your illness, and she sent me to see whether we cannot be of some use to you or the little ones.”

Lucia had puzzled beforehand over what she should say, but finally her little speech was just what happened to come into her head at the moment.  However, it made small difference, since the speech and the manner were both kind, and kindness was the first thing needed.

Mrs. Clarkson looked at her with a mixed expression of gratitude and eagerness.

“It’s not for me, miss,” she said earnestly, “but for the poor little ones.  I used to be a good one to work, but, you see, I can’t work for ’em now—­not at present.”

And tears of extreme weakness filled her eyes.

Lucia laid her hand softly on the thin fingers that lay nervously catching at the edge of the sheet.

“Don’t be the least afraid about them,” she answered.  “Mamma and the doctor will see that they are taken care of; only we thought you would be glad to know that people were thinking about them.  There is another visitor here who can do you more good than I can—­Mrs. Morton.”

Lucia moved aside, and Bella took her place.  Mrs. Clarkson looked up anxiously, with her whole desire written on her pale face, and was answered at once,