At last it came upon her, one July morning, that most shocking and
insensate of nature’s cruelties. Her mother sat by her in fatalistic
patience, knowing well that there was no escape, no alleviation. There
was a doctor whom Mrs. Kennedy had summoned--not the noble and kindly
physician of Angelica’s romance, but an indifferent and callous one
accustomed to the poor and their profitless agonies. He was very
cheerful. He was able to look down upon that young face distorted in
brutal anguish, and smile.
"Nothing to be done now," he said. "I’ll look in again in an hour or
so."
He returned too late. The protesting little spirit had entered the world
without him, and lay crying, wrapped in an old flannel night-dress, in
Mrs. Kennedy’s lap, while the young mother watched it with unfathomable
eyes.