The soft forehead was moist.

Prince Andrew touched the head with his hand; even the hair was wet, so profusely had the child perspired.

He was not dead, but evidently the crisis was over and he was convalescent.

Prince Andrew longed to snatch up, to squeeze, to hold to his heart, this helpless little creature, but dared not do so.

He stood over him, gazing at his head and at the little arms and legs which showed under the blanket.