in the bearing of her first child the second mrs. elkman died. the rosy face became a white angelic mask, the dainty figure lay in statuesque severity, and a screaming, bald-headed atom of humanity was the compensation for this silence. henry elkman was overwhelmed by grief and superstition.

'for three things women die in childbirth,' kept humming in his brain from his ancient hebrew lore. he did not remember what they were, except that one was the omission of the wife to throw into the fire the lump of dough from the sabbath bread. but these neglects could not be visited on a christian, he thought dully. the only distraction of his grief was the infant's pressing demand on his attention.

it was some days before the news penetrated to the old woman.

'it is his punishment,' she said with solemn satisfaction. 'now my fanny's spirit will rest.'

but she did not gloat over the decree of the god of israel as she had imagined beforehand, nor did she call for the dead woman's old clo'. she was simply content—an unrighteous universe had been set straight again like a mended watch. but she did call, without [204]her bag, to inquire if she could be of service in this tragic crisis.

'out of my sight, you and your evil eye!' cried henry as he banged the door in her face.

natalya burst into tears, torn by a chaos of emotions. so she was still to be shut out.