“Oh! poor baby—­poor little darling baby,” the child continued as before; “will no one save him—­tell that wicked man to go away—­oh—­there—­why, mamma—­don’t—­oh, sure you won’t let him—­don’t—­don’t—­he’ll take the child’s life—­will you let him lie down that way on the bed—­save poor little baby—­oh, baby, baby, waken—­his head is on your face.”

As she said this she raised her voice to a cry of despairing terror which made the whole room ring again.

This cry, or rather yell, reached my ears as I sate reading in the parlour by myself, and fearing I knew not what, I rushed to the apartment; before I reached it, the sound had subsided into low but violent sobbing; and, just as I arrived at the threshold I heard, close at my feet, a fierce protracted growl, and something rubbing along the surbase.  I was in the dark, but, with a feeling of mingled terror and fury, I stamped and struck at the abhorred brute with my feet, but in vain.  The next moment I was in the room, and heard little Fanny, through her sobs, cry—­

“Oh, poor baby is killed—­that wicked man has killed him—­he uncovered his face, and put it on him, and lay upon the bed and killed poor baby.  I knew he came to kill him.  Ah, papa, papa, why did you not come up before he went?—­he is gone, he went away as soon as he killed our poor little darling baby.”

I could not conceal my agitation, quite, and I said to my wife—­

“Has he, Smith, been here?”

“No.”

“What is it, then?”

“The child has seen some one.”

“Seen whom?  Who?  Who has been here?”

“I did not see it; but—­but I am sure the child saw—­that is, thought she saw him;—­the person you have named.  Oh, God, in mercy deliver us!  What shall I do—­what shall I do!”

Thus saying, the dear little woman burst into tears, and crying, as if her heart would break, sobbed out an entreaty that I would look at baby; adding, that she herself had not courage to see whether her darling was sleeping or dead.

“Dead!” I exclaimed.  “Tut, tut, my darling; you must not give way to such morbid fancies—­he is very well, I see him breathing;” and so saying, I went over to the bed where our little boy was lying.  He was slumbering; though it seemed to me very heavily, and his cheeks were flushed.

“Sleeping tranquilly, my darling—­tranquilly, and deeply; and with a warm colour in his cheeks,” I said, rearranging the coverlet, and retiring to my wife, who sate almost breathless whilst I was looking at our little boy.

“Thank God—­thank God,” she said quietly; and she wept again; and rising, came to his bedside.

“Yes, yes—­alive; thank God; but it seems to me he is breathing very short, and with difficulty, and he looks—­does he not look hot and feverish?  Yes, he is very hot; feel his little hand—­feel his neck; merciful heaven! he is burning.”