his eyes.

"Our little daughter," she repeated; "and they say, Hubert, that I have
given my life for hers. Is it true?"

He looked at the two doctors; he looked at the white face bearing the
solemn, serene impress of death. It would be cruel to deceive her now,
when the hands that caressed the little child were already growing
colder.

"Is it true, Hubert?" she repeated, a clear light shining in her dying
eyes.

"Yes, my darling, it is true," he said, in a low voice.

"I am dying--really dying--when I have my baby and you?" she questioned.
"Oh, Hubert, is it really true?"

Nothing but his sobs answered her; dying as she was, all sweet, womanly
compassion awoke in her heart.

"Hubert," she whispered--"oh, my darling, if you could come with me!--I
want to see you kiss the baby while it lies here in my arms."

He bent down and kissed the tiny face, she watching him all the time.

"You will be very kind to her, darling, for my sake, because you have
loved me so much, and call her by my name--Madaline. Tell her about me
when she grows up--how young I was to die, how dearly I loved you, and
how I held her in my arms. You will not forget?"