But the infant, thoroughly aroused, gave out a querulous note, thin and
sustained. Jonah stooped to blow out the candle, and then, with a sudden
curiosity, walked over to the cradle.

It was a box on rough rollers, made out of a packing-case, grimy with dirt
from the hands that had rocked it. Jonah pulled it out of the corner into
the light, and the child, pacified by the sight of a face, stopped crying.

Fearful of observation, he looked round, and then stared intently at the
baby. It was a meeting of strangers, for Mrs Yabsley, aware of his
aversion from the child, had kept it out of the way. It was the first
baby that he had seen at close quarters, for he had never lived in a house
with one. And he looked at this with the curiosity with which one looks
at a foreigner--surprised that he, too, is a man.

The child blinked feebly under the light of the candle, which Jonah was
holding near. Its fingers moved with a mechanical, crab-like motion.

With an odd sensation Jonah remembered that this was his child--flesh of
his flesh, bone of his bone--and, with a swift instinct, he searched its
face for a sign of paternity.

The child's bulging forehead bore no likeness to Jonah's which sloped
sharply from the eyebrows, and the nose was a mere dab of flesh; but its
eyes were grey, like his own. His interest increased. Gently he stroked
the fine silky down that covered its head, and then, growing bolder,
touched its cheek. The delicate skin was smooth as satin under his
rough finger.