Mrs. Lennox had questioned Helen about the name and Helen had answered: “Katy knows, I presume. It does not matter,” but no one had spoken directly to Katy, who had scarcely given it a thought, caring more for the rite she had deferred so long.
“He must hasten,” she said to Morris, her eyes fixed upon the panting child she had lifted to her own lap, and thus abjured the clergyman failed to make the usual inquiry concerning the name he was to give.
Calm and white as a marble statue, Marian Hazelton glided to the back of Katy’s chair, pressing both her hands upon it, and leaning over Katy so that her eyes too were fixed upon the little face, from which they never turned but once, and that when the clergyman’s voice was heard asking for a name. There was an instant’s silence, and Katy’s lips began to move, when one of Marian’s hands was laid upon her head, while the other took in its own the limp, while baby fingers, and Marian’s voice was very steady in its tone as it said: “Genevra.”
“Yes, Genevra,” Katy whispered, and then the solemn words were heard: “Genevra, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”
Softly the baptismal waters fell upon the pale forehead, and at their touch the little Genevra’s eyes unclosed, the waxen fingers withdrew themselves from Marian’s grasp, and again sought the mother’s cheek, resting there for an instant; while a smile broke around the baby lips, which tried to say “Mam-ma.” Then the hand fell back, down upon Marian’s, the soft eyes closed, the limbs grew rigid, the shadow of death grew deeper, and while the prayer was said, and Marian’s tears fell with Katy’s upon the brow where the baptismal waters were not dried, the angel came, and when the prayer was ended, Morris, who knew what the rest did not, took the lifeless form from Katy’s lap, and whispered to her gently: “Katy, your baby is dead!”