"If I--if I could lay my hand upon thy mouth--and stop thy breathing--thou poor thing, 'twould be fairer--but--I have no strength." She gathered all her dying will and brought her hand up to the infant's mouth.

A wild look was on her poor, small face, she panted and fell forward on its breast, the rattle in her throat growing louder.

The child awakened, opening great black eyes, and with her dying weakness its new-born life struggled.

Her cold hand lay upon I its mouth, and her head upon its body, for she was too far gone to move if she had willed to do so.

But the tiny creature's strength was marvellous.