The dreaded day arrived at last, and her strong constitution

enabled Herminia to live through it. Her baby was born, a

beautiful little girl, soft, delicate, wonderful, with Alan's blue

eyes, and its mother's complexion. Those rosy feet saved Herminia.

As she clasped them in her hands--tiny feet, tender feet--she felt

she had now something left to live for,--her baby, Alan's baby, the

baby with a future, the baby that was destined to regenerate

humanity.

So warm! So small! Alan's soul and her own, mysteriously blended.

Still, even so, she couldn't find it in her heart to give any

joyous name to dead Alan's child. Dolores she called it, at Alan's

grave. In sorrow had she borne it; its true name was Dolores.




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