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.