Alred hears three cries
Alred was not asleep. He had waited a long while to be certain that Matilda was, and then he had slid his hand over to hers and cautiously slipped two fingers over her wrist. Now he could feel the race and flutter of her pulse. It was horrifying, but he could not stop himself. It was like a peephole into the turmoil that raged behind the weary repose of her pale, swollen body. But as long as her heart beat, she was alive.
Lately the women were saying that one could only hope that she would live long enough to give the baby a chance to survive. But he did not want it under such circumstances. He hoped it would die with her if she must die.
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