Meanwhile, as she armored her spirit, she built a fire, put on
water to heat, attended capably to innumerable details. Rose was
a woman of sound experience. She had been with others at such
times. It held no goblin terrors for her. Had it not been for
Martin's heartlessness, she would have felt wholly equal to the
occasion. As it was, she made little commotion. Dr. Bradley,
gentle and direct, had been the Conroys' family physician for
years. Nellie, who arrived in an hour, had been through the
experience often herself, and was friendly and helpful.

She liked Rose, admired her tremendously and the thought--an odd
one for Nellie--crossed her mind that tonight she was downright
beautiful. When at dawn, Dr. Bradley whispered: "She has been so
brave, Mrs. Mall, I can't bear to tell her the child is not
alive. Wouldn't it be better for you to do so?" She shrank from
the task. "I can't; I simply can't," she protested, honest tears
pouring down her thin face.

"Could you, Mr. Wade?"

Martin strode into Rose's room, all his own disappointment adding
bitterness to his words: "Well, I knew you'd done it and you
have. It's a fine boy, but he came dead."

Out of the dreariness and the toil, out of the hope, the
suffering and the high courage had come--nothing. As Rose lay,
the little still form clasped against her, she was too broken for
tears. Life had played her another trick. Indignation toward
Martin gathered volume with her returning strength.