"Never mind about the baby," was answered, almost coldly; "he's well
enough. I'm more concerned about you."

"Have you sent word to George?"

"George can't see you. I've said that before."

"Oh, mother! I must see my husband."

"Husband!" The tone of bitter contempt with which the word was
uttered struck the daughter like a blow. She had partly risen in her
excitement, but now fell back with a low moan, shutting her eyes and
turning her face away. Even as she did so, a young man stepped back
from the door of the elegant house in which she lay with a baffled,
disappointed air. He looked pale and wretched.

"Edith!" Two hours afterward the doctor stood over the young mother,
and called her name. She did not move nor reply. He laid his hand on
her cheek, and almost started, then bent down and looked at her
intently for a moment or two. She had fever. A serious expression
came into his face, and there was cause.

The sweet rest and heavenly joy of maternity had been denied to his
young patient. The new-born babe had not been suffered to lie even
for one blissful moment on her bosom. Hard-hearted family pride and
cruel worldliness had robbed her of the delight with which God ever
seeks to dower young motherhood, and now the overtaxed body and
brain had given way.

For many weeks the frail young creature struggled with