In a moment more I had sufficiently recovered myself to see the
impropriety of permitting any obstacle to interpose between the
Minister and his errand of mercy. I gently reminded the Prisoner
that she would have a later opportunity of seeing her child.
"Your first duty," I told her, "is to hear and to take to heart
what the clergyman has to say to you."

For the second time I attempted to leave the cell. For the second
time this impenetrable woman called me back.

"Take the parson away with you," she said. "I refuse to listen
to him."

The patient Minister yielded, and appealed to me to follow his
example. I reluctantly sanctioned the delivery of the message.

After a brief interval the child was brought to us, tired and
sleepy. For a while the nurse roused her by setting her on her
feet. She happened to notice the Minister first. Her bright eyes
rested on him, gravely wondering. He kissed her, and, after a
momentary hesitation, gave her to her mother. The horror of the
situation overpowered him: he turned his face away from us. I
understood what he felt; he almost overthrew my own self-command.

The Prisoner spoke to the nurse in no friendly tone: "You can
go."

The nurse turned to me, ostentatiously ignoring the words that
had been addressed to her. "Am I to go, sir, or to stay?"