"What is it, Doctor ?" "Life!" panted Stevens, triumph in his glistening, streaming face.
"Life!" He continued to whirl the little form, but not so rapidly or so vigorously.

And now the sound was louder, or, rather, less faint, less uncertain--was a cry--was the cry of a living thing.
"She's alive--alive!" shrieked the woman, and in time with his movements she swayed to and fro from side to side, laughing, weeping, wringing her hands, patting her bosom, her cheeks.

She stretched out her arms.

"My prayers are answered!" she cried.
"Don't kill her, you brute! Give her to me.

You shan't treat a baby that way." The unheeding doctor kept on whirling until the cry was continuous, a low but lusty wail of angry protest.