The
door that led into the nursery was closed.
Muriel advanced fiercely upon the woman. She almost felt as if
she could have choked her. She seized her by the shoulders without
ceremony. The _ayah_ ceased her wailing for a moment, then recommenced
in a lower key. Muriel pulled her to her feet, half-dragged, half-led
her to her own room, thrust her within, and locked the door upon her.
Then she returned to Daisy.
She found her sunk in a rocking-chair before the waning fire, softly
swaying to and fro with the baby on her breast. She looked at Muriel
entering, with a set, still face.
"Has Blake gone?" she asked, still in that dry, powerless whisper.
Muriel moved to her side, and knelt down. "He is just going," she
began to say, but the words froze on her lips.
She remained motionless for a long second, gazing at the tiny, waxen
face on Daisy's breast. And for that second her heart stood still; for
she knew that the baby was dead.
From the closed room across the passage came the muffled sound of the
_ayah's_ wailing. Daisy made a slight impatient movement.
"Stir the fire," she whispered. "He feels so cold."
But Muriel did not move to obey. Instead she held out her arms.
"Let me take him, dear," she begged tremulously. Daisy shook her head
with a jealous tightening of her clasp.
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