Her hair hung about her, her hands and wrists were shrunken, her flesh was soft and flabby, and she had dark shadows in her face. Nursing her child seemed to draw all strength from her, and her nervous depression increased; she was too weary and ill to think of the future, and for a whole week her physical condition held her, to the exclusion of every other thought. Mrs. Jones was very kind, and only charged her ten shillings a week for her board and lodging, but this was a great deal when only two pounds five shillings remained between her and the workhouse, and this fact was brought home to her when Mrs. Jones came to her for the first week's money. Ten shillings gone; only one pound fifteen shillings left, and still she was so weak that she could hardly get up and down stairs. But if she were twice as weak, if she had to crawl along the street on her hands and knees, she must go to the hospital and implore the matron to get her a situation as wet-nurse. It was raining heavily, and Mrs. Jones said it was madness for her to go out in such weather, but go she must; and though it was distant only a few hundred yards, she often thought she would like to lie down and die. And at the hospital only disappointment. Why hadn't she called yesterday? Yesterday two ladies of title had come and taken two girls away. Such a chance might not occur for some time. "For some time," thought Esther; "very soon I shall have to apply for admission at the workhouse." She reminded the matron of her promise, and returned home more dead than alive. Mrs. Jones helped her to change her clothes, and bade her be of good heart. Esther looked at her hopelessly, and sitting down on the edge of her bed she put the baby to her breast.

Another week passed. She had been to the hospital every day, but no one had been to inquire for a wet-nurse. Her money was reduced to a few shillings, and she tried to reconcile herself to the idea that she might do worse than to accept the harsh shelter of the workhouse. Her nature revolted against it; but she must do what was best for the child. She often asked herself how it would all end, and the more she thought, the more terrible did the future seem. Her miserable meditations were interrupted by a footstep on the stairs. It was Mrs. Jones, coming to tell her that a lady who wanted a wet-nurse had come from the hospital; and a lady entered dressed in a beautiful brown silk, and looked around the humble room, clearly shocked at its poverty. Esther, who was sitting on the bed, rose to meet the fine lady, a thin woman, with narrow temples, aquiline features, bright eyes, and a disagreeable voice.

"You are the young person who wants a situation as wet-nurse?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Are you married?"

"No, ma'am."

"Is that your first child?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Ah, that's a pity. But it doesn't matter much, so long as you and your baby are healthy. Will you show it to me?"

"He is asleep now, ma'am," Esther said, raising the bed-clothes; "there never was a healthier child."

"Yes, he seems healthy enough. You have a good supply of milk?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Fifteen shillings, and all found. Does that suit you?"

"I had expected a pound a week."

"It is only your first baby. Fifteen shillings is quite enough. Of course
I only engage you subject to the doctor's approval. I'll ask him to call."

"Very well, ma'am; I shall be glad of the place."

"Then it is settled. You can come at once?"

"I must arrange to put my baby out to nurse, ma'am."

The lady's face clouded. But following up another train of thought, she said—

"Of course you must arrange about your baby, and I hope you'll make proper arrangements. Tell the woman in whose charge you leave it that I shall want to see it every three weeks. It will be better so," she added under her breath, "for two have died already."

"This is my card," said the lady—"Mrs. Rivers, Curzon Street, Mayfair—and I shall expect you to-morrow afternoon—that is to say, if the doctor approves of you. Here is one-and-sixpence for your cab fare."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"I shall expect you not later than four o'clock. I hope you won't disappoint me; remember my child is waiting."

When Mrs. Rivers left, Esther consulted with Mrs. Jones. The difficulty was now where she should put the child out at nurse. It was now just after two o'clock. The baby was fast asleep, and would want nothing for three or four hours. It would be well for Esther to put on her hat and jacket and go off at once. Mrs. Jones gave her the address of a respectable woman who used to take charge of children. But this woman was nursing twins, and could not possibly undertake the charge of another baby. And Esther visited many streets, always failing for one reason or another. At last she found herself in Wandsworth, in a battered tumble-down little street, no thoroughfare, only four houses and a coal-shed. Broken wooden palings stood in front of the small area into which descent was made by means of a few wooden steps. The wall opposite seemed to be the back of some stables, and in the area of No. 3 three little mites were playing. The baby was tied in a chair, and a short fat woman came out of the kitchen at Esther's call, her dirty apron sloping over her high stomach, and her pale brown hair twisted into a knot at the top of her head.

"Well, what is it?"

"I came about putting a child out to nurse. You are Mrs. Spires, ain't yer?"

"Yes, that's my name. May I ask who sent you?"

Esther told her, and then Mrs. Spires asked her to step down into the kitchen.

"Them 'ere children you saw in the area I looks after while their mothers are out washing or charing. They takes them 'ome in the evening. I only charges them four-pence a-day, and it is a loss at that, for they does take a lot of minding. What age is yours?"

"Mine is only a month old. I've a chance to go out as wet-nurse if I can find a place to put him out at nurse. Will you look after my baby?"

"How much do you think of paying for him?"

"Five shillings a week."

"And you a-going out as wet-nurse at a pound a week; you can afford more than that."

"I'm only getting fifteen shillings a week."

"Well, you can afford to pay six. I tell you the responsibility I of looking after a hinfant is that awful nowadays that I don't care to undertake it for less."

Esther hesitated; she did not like this woman.

"I suppose," said the woman, altering her tone to one of mild interrogation, "you would like your baby to have the best of everything, and not the drainings of any bottle that's handy?"

"I should like my child to be well looked after, and I must see the child every three weeks."

"Do you expect me to bring up the child to wherever the lady lives, and pay my 'bus fare, all out of five shillings a week? It can't be done!" Esther did not answer. "You ain't married, of course?" Mrs. Spires said suddenly.

"No, I ain't; what about that?"

"Oh, nothing; there is so many of you, that's all. You can't lay yer 'and on the father and get a bit out of 'im?"

The conversation paused. Esther felt strangely undecided. She looked round suspiciously, and noticing the look the woman said—

"Your baby will be well looked after 'ere; a nice warm kitchen, and I've no other babies for the moment; them children don't give no trouble, they plays in the area. You had better let me have the child; you won't do better than 'ere."

Esther promised to think it over and let her know to-morrow. It took her many omnibuses to get home, and it was quite dark when she pushed the door to. The first thing that caught her ear was her child crying. "What is the matter?" she cried, hurrying down the passage.

"Oh, is that you? You have been away a time. The poor child is that hungry he has been crying this hour or more. If I'd 'ad a bottle I'd 'ave given him a little milk."

"Hungry, is he? Then he shall have plenty soon. It is nearly the last time
I shall nurse the poor darling." Then she told Mrs. Jones about Mrs.
Spires, and both women tried to arrive at a decision.

"Since you have to put the child out to nurse, you might as well put him there as elsewhere; the woman will look after him as well as she can—she'll do that, if it is for the sake of the six shillings a week."

"Yes, yes, I know; but I've always heard that children die that are put out to nurse. If mine died I never should forgive myself."

She could not sleep; she lay with her arms about her baby, distracted at the thought of parting from him. What had she done that her baby should be separated from her? What had the poor little darling done? He at least was innocent; why should he be deprived of his mother? At midnight she got up and lighted a candle, looked at him, took him in her arms, squeezed him to her bosom till he cried, and the thought came that it would be sweeter to kill him with her own hands than to be parted from him.

The thought of murder went with the night, and she enjoyed the journey to Wandsworth. Her baby laughed and cooed, and was much admired in the omnibus, and the little street where Mrs. Spires lived seemed different. A cart of hay was being unloaded, and this gave the place a pleasant rural air. Mrs. Spires, too, was cleaner, tidier; Esther no longer disliked her; she had a nice little cot ready for the baby, and he seemed so comfortable in it that Esther did not feel the pangs at parting which she had expected to feel. She would see him in a few weeks, and in those weeks she would be richer. It seemed quite wonderful to earn so much money in so short a time. She had had a great deal of bad luck, but her luck seemed to have turned at last. So engrossed was she in the consideration of her good fortune that she nearly forgot to get out of her 'bus at Charing Cross, and had it not been for the attention of the conductor might have gone on, she did not know where—perhaps to Clerkenwell, or may be to Islington. When the second 'bus turned into Oxford Street she got out, not wishing to spend more money than was necessary. Mrs. Jones approved of all she had done, helped her to pack up her box, and sent her away with many kind wishes to Curzon Street in a cab.

Esther was full of the adventure and the golden prospect before her. She wondered if the house she was going to was as grand as Woodview, and she was struck by the appearance of the maidservant who opened the door to her.

"Oh, here you are," Mrs. Rivers said. "I have been anxiously expecting you; my baby is not at all well. Come up to the nursery at once. I don't know your name," she said, turning to Esther.

"Waters, ma'am."

"Emily, you'll see that Waters' box is taken to her room."

"I'll see to it, ma'am."

"Then come up at once, Waters. I hope you'll succeed better than the others."

A tall, handsome gentleman stood at the door of a room full of beautiful things, and as they went past him Mrs. Rivers said, "This is the new nurse, dear." Higher up, Esther saw a bedroom of soft hangings and bright porcelain. Then another staircase, and the little wail of a child caught on the ear, and Mrs. Rivers said, "The poor little thing; it never ceases crying. Take it, Waters, take it."

Esther sat down, and soon the little thing ceased crying.

"It seems to take to you," said the anxious mother.

"So it seems," said Esther; "it is a wee thing, not half the size of my boy."

"I hope the milk will suit it, and that it won't bring up what it takes.
This is our last chance."

"I daresay it will come round, ma'am. I suppose you weren't strong enough to nurse it yourself, and yet you looks healthy."

"I? No, I could not undertake to nurse it." Then, glancing suspiciously at Esther, whose breast was like a little cup, Mrs. Rivers said, "I hope you have plenty of milk?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am; they said at the hospital I could bring up twins."

"Your supper will be ready at nine. But that will be a long time for you to wait. I told them to cut you some sandwiches, and you'll have a glass of porter. Or perhaps you'd prefer to wait till supper? You can have your supper, you know, at eight, if you like?"

Esther took a sandwich and Mrs. Rivers poured out a glass of porter. And later in the evening Mrs. Rivers came down from her drawing-room to see that Esther's supper was all right, and not satisfied with the handsome fare that had been laid before her child's nurse, she went into the kitchen and gave strict orders that the meat for the future was not to be quite so much cooked.

Henceforth it seemed to Esther that she was eating all day. The food was doubtless necessary after the great trial of the flesh she had been through, likewise pleasant after her long abstinences. She grew happy in the tide of new blood flowing in her veins, and might easily have abandoned herself in the seduction of these carnal influences. But her moral nature was of tough fibre, and made mute revolt. Such constant mealing did not seem natural, and the obtuse brain of this lowly servant-girl was perplexed. Her self-respect was wounded; she hated her position in this house, and sought consolation in the thought that she was earning good money for her baby. She noticed, too, that she never was allowed out alone, and that her walks were limited to just sufficient exercise to keep her in health.

A fortnight passed, and one afternoon, after having put baby to sleep, she said to Mrs. Rivers, "I hope, ma'am, you'll be able to spare me for a couple of hours; baby won't want me before then. I'm very anxious about my little one."

"Oh, nurse, I couldn't possibly hear of it; such a thing is never allowed.
You can write to the woman, if you like."

"I do not know how to write, ma'am."

"Then you can get some one to write for you. But your baby is no doubt all right."

"But, ma'am, you are uneasy about your baby; you are up in the nursery twenty times a day; it is only natural I should be uneasy about mine."

"But, nurse, I've no one to send with you."

"There is no reason why any one should go with me, ma'am; I can take care of myself."

"What! let you go off all the way to—where did you say you had left it—Wandsworth?—by yourself! I really couldn't think of it. I don't want to be unnecessarily hard—but I really couldn't—no mother could. I must consider the interests of my child. But I don't want you to agitate yourself, and if you like I'll write myself to the woman who has charge of your baby. I cannot do more, and I hope you'll be satisfied."

By what right, by what law, was she separated from her child? She was tired of hearing Mrs. Rivers speak of "my child, my child, my child," and of seeing this fine lady turn up her nose when she spoke of her own beautiful boy. When Mrs. Rivers came to engage her she had said that it would be better for the baby to be brought to see her every three or four weeks, for two had died already. At the time Esther had not understood. She had supposed vaguely, in a passing way, that Mrs. Rivers had already lost two children. But yesterday the housemaid had told her that that little thing in the cradle had had two wet-nurses before Esther, and that both babies had died. It was then a life for a life. It was more. The children of two poor girls had been sacrificed so that this rich woman's child might be saved. Even that was not enough, the life of her beautiful boy was called for. Then other memories swept into Esther's frenzied brain. She remembered vague hints, allusions that Mrs. Spires had thrown out; and as if in the obtuseness of a nightmare, it seemed to this ignorant girl that she was the victim of a dark and far-reaching conspiracy; she experienced the sensation of the captured animal, and she scanned the doors and windows, thinking of some means of escape.

At that moment a knock was heard and the housemaid came in.

"The woman who has charge of your baby has come to see you."

Esther started up from her chair, and fat little Mrs. Spires waddled into the room, the ends of her shawl touching the ground.

"Where is my baby?" said Esther. "Why haven't you brought him?"

"Why, you see, my dear, the sweet little thing didn't seem as well as usual this afternoon, and I did not care to bring him out, it being a long way and a trifle cold…. It is nice and warm in here. May I sit down?"

"Yes, there's a chair; but tell me what is the matter with him?"

"A little cold, dear—nothing to speak of. You must not excite yourself, it isn't worth while; besides, it's bad for you and the little darling in the cradle. May I have a look?… A little girl, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is a girl."

"And a beautiful little girl too. 'Ow 'ealthy she do look! I'll be bound you have made a difference in her. I suppose you are beginning to like her just as if she was your own?"

Esther did not answer.

"Yer know, all you girls are dreadful taken with their babies at first. But they is a awful drag on a girl who gets her living in service. For my part I do think it providential-like that rich folk don't nurse their own. If they did, I dunno what would become of all you poor girls. The situation of wet-nurse is just what you wants at the time, and it is good money. I hope yer did what I told you and stuck out for a pound a week. Rich folk like these here would think nothing of a pound a week, nor yet two, when they sees their child is suited."

"Never mind about my money, that's my affair. Tell me what's the matter with my baby?"

"'Ow yer do 'arp on it! I've told yer that 'e's all right; nothing to signify, only a little poorly, but knowing you was that anxious I thought it better to come up. I didn't know but what you might like to 'ave in the doctor."

"Does he require the doctor? I thought you said it was nothing to signify."

"That depends on 'ow yer looks at it. Some likes to 'ave in the doctor, however little the ailing; then others won't 'ave anything to do with doctors—don't believe in them. So I thought I'd come up and see what you thought about it. I would 'ave sent for the doctor this morning—I'm one of those who 'as faith in doctors—but being a bit short of money I thought I'd come up and ask you for a trifle."

At that moment Mrs. Rivers came into the nursery and her first look went in the direction of the cradle, then she turned to consider curtseying Mrs. Spires.

"This is Mrs. Spires, the lady who is looking after my baby, ma'am," said
Esther; "she has come with bad news—my baby is ill."

"Oh, I'm sorry. But I daresay it is nothing."

"But Mrs. Spires says, ma'am——"

"Yes, ma'am, the little thing seemed a bit poorly, and I being short of money, ma'am, I had to come and see nurse. I knows right well that they must not be disturbed, and of course your child's 'ealth is everything; but if I may make so bold I'd like to say that the little dear do look beautiful. Nurse is bringing her up that well that yer must have every satisfaction in 'er."

"Yes, she seems to suit the child; that's the reason I don't want her upset."

"It won't occur again, ma'am, I promise you."

Esther did not answer, and her white, sullen face remained unchanged. She had a great deal on her mind, and would have spoken if the words did not seem to betray her when she attempted to speak.

"When the baby is well, and the doctor is satisfied there is no danger of infection, you can bring it here—once a month will be sufficient. Is there anything more?"

"Mrs. Spires thinks my baby ought to see the doctor."

"Well, let her send for the doctor."

"Being a bit short of money——"

"How much is it?" said Esther.

"Well, what we pays is five shillings to the doctor, but then there's the medicine he will order, and I was going to speak to you about a piece of flannel; if yer could let me have ten shillings to go on with."

"But I haven't so much left. I must see my baby," and Esther moved towards the door.

"No, no, nurse, I cannot hear of it; I'd sooner pay the money myself. Now, how much do you want, Mrs. Spires?"

"Ten shillings will do for the present, ma'am."

"Here they are; let the child have every attendance, and remember you are not to come troubling my nurse. Above all, you are not to come up to the nursery. I don't know how it happened, it was a mistake on the part of the new housemaid. You must have my permission before you see my nurse." And while talking rapidly and imperatively Mrs. Rivers, as it were, drove Mrs. Spires out of the nursery. Esther could hear them talking on the staircase, and she listened, all the while striving to collect her thoughts. Mrs. Rivers said when she returned, "I really cannot allow her to come here upsetting you." Then, as if impressed by the sombre look on Esther's face, she added: "Upsetting you about nothing. I assure you it will be all right; only a little indisposition."

"I must see my baby," Esther replied.

"Come, nurse, you shall see your baby the moment the doctor says it is fit to come here. You can't expect me to do more than that." Esther did not move, and thinking that it would not be well to argue with her, Mrs. Rivers went over to the cradle. "See, nurse, the little darling has just woke up; come and take her, I'm sure she wants you."

Esther did not answer her. She stood looking into space, and it seemed to Mrs. Rivers that it would be better not to provoke a scene. She went towards the door slowly, but a little cry from the cradle stopped her, and she said—

"Come, nurse, what is it? Come, the baby is waiting for you."

Then, like one waking from a dream, Esther said: "If my baby is all right, ma'am, I'll come back, but if he wants me, I'll have to look after him first."

"You forget that I'm paying you fifteen shillings a week. I pay you for nursing my baby; you take my money, that's sufficient."

"Yes, I do take your money, ma'am. But the housemaid has told me that you had two wet-nurses before me, and that both their babies died, so I cannot stop here now that mine's ill. Everyone for her own; you can't blame me. I'm sorry for yours—poor little thing, she was getting on nicely too."

"But, Waters, you won't leave my baby. It's cruel of you. If I could nurse it myself——"

"Why couldn't you, ma'am? You look fairly strong and healthy."

Esther spoke in her quiet, stolid way, finding her words unconsciously.

"You don't know what you're saying, nurse; you can't…. You've forgotten yourself. Next time I engage a nurse I'll try to get one who has lost her baby, and then there'll be no bother."

"It is a life for a life—more than that, ma'am—two lives for a life; and now the life of my boy is asked for."

A strange look passed over Mrs. Rivers' face. She knew, of course, that she stood well within the law, that she was doing no more than a hundred other fashionable women were doing at the same moment; but this plain girl had a plain way of putting things, and she did not care for it to be publicly known that the life of her child had been bought with the lives of two poor children. But her temper was getting the better of her.

"He'll only be a drag on you. You'll never be able to bring him up, poor little bastard child."

"It is wicked of you to speak like that, ma'am, though it is I who am saying it. It is none of the child's fault if he hasn't got a father, nor is it right that he should be deserted for that… and it is not for you to tell me to do such a thing. If you had made sacrifice of yourself in the beginning and nursed your own child such thoughts would not have come to you. But when you hire a poor girl such as me to give the milk that belongs to another to your child, you think nothing of the poor deserted one. He is but a bastard, you say, and had better be dead and done with. I see it all now; I have been thinking it out. It is all so hidden up that the meaning is not clear at first, but what it comes to is this, that fine folks like you pays the money, and Mrs. Spires and her like gets rid of the poor little things. Change the milk a few times, a little neglect, and the poor servant girl is spared the trouble of bringing up her baby and can make a handsome child of the rich woman's little starveling."

At that moment the baby began to cry; both women looked in the direction of the cradle.

"Nurse, you have utterly forgotten yourself, you have talked a great deal of nonsense, you have said a great deal that is untrue. You accused me of wishing your baby were dead, indeed I hardly know what wild remarks you did not indulge in. Of course, I cannot put up with such conduct—to-morrow you will come to me and apologise. In the meantime the baby wants you, are you not going to her?"

"I'm going to my own child."

"That means that you refuse to nurse my baby?"

"Yes, I'm going straight to look after my own."

"If you leave my house you shall never enter it again."

"I don't want to enter it again."

"I shall not pay you one shilling if you leave my baby. You have no money."

"I shall try to manage without. I shall go with my baby to the workhouse.
However bad the living may be there, he'll be with his mother."

"If you go to-night my baby will die. She cannot be brought up on the bottle."

"Oh, I hope not, ma'am. I should be sorry, indeed I should."

"Then stay, nurse."

"I must go to my baby, ma'am."

"Then you shall go at once—this very instant."

"I'm going this very instant, as soon as I've put on my hat and jacket."

"You had better take your box with you. If you don't I'll shall have it thrown into the street."

"I daresay you're cruel enough to do that if the law allows you, only be careful that it do."