And I said to myself that, if that were the case, it would not be
murder--not murder, but some mad, miserable mother's way out of some
dreadful difficulty.

Surely on the beautiful, despairing face I had not seen the brand of
murder. If the little one had been dead, that would lessen the degree of
wickedness so greatly.

The woman who had dried and kissed the tiny waxen face bent over it now.

"I am sure," she said, "that the child was alive when it touched the
water."

"How do you know?" asked the superintendent, curiously.

"Look at the face, sir, and you will see."

"I see nothing," he replied.

"I do," she said. "I see just what you would see on the face of a baby
suddenly plunged into cold water. I see the signs of faint, baby
surprise. Look at the baby brows and the little hand spread wide open.
It was living when it touched the water, I am sure of that."

"A doctor will soon settle that question," said the superintendent.

Then the little one was carried by rough but not ungentle hands to the
dead-house on the hill. I went with it. I overheard the superintendent
tell the master of the work-house that I was a rich man--an invalid--and
that I passed a great deal of my time at Brighton. In a lowered voice he