to let the tips of his fingers touch the child's
cheek.

"There, sir!" she cried, her face beaming
with happiness as she saw the sudden flash of
surprise and pleasure which changed her
husband's naturally quiet, subdued expression
in an instant. "What do you say to
that piece of furniture? Is it a chair, or a
table? Or is it the most precious thing in all
the house, in all Cornwall, in all England, in
all the world? Kiss it, and see which it is—
a bust of a baby by a sculptor, or a living
cherub by your wife!" She turned, laughing,
to the nurse: "Hannah, you look so
serious that I am sure you must be hungry.
Have you had your supper yet?" The woman
smiled, and answered that she had arranged
to go down stairs, as soon as one of the
servants could relieve her in taking care of the
child. "Go at once," said Rosamond. "I
will stop here and look after the baby. Get
your supper, and come back again in half-
an hour."

When the nurse had left the room,
Rosamond placed a chair for Leonard by the side
of the cot, and seated herself on a low stool
at his knees. Her variable disposition seemed
to change again when she did this; her face
grew thoughtful, her eyes softened, as they
turned, now on her husband, now on the bed
in which the child was sleeping by his side.
After a minute or two of silence, she took one
of his hands, placed it on his knee, and laid
her cheek gently down on it.

"Lenny," she said, rather sadly, "I wonder
whether we are any of us capable of feeling
perfect happiness in this world?"

"What makes you ask that question, my
dear?"

"I fancy that I could feel perfect happiness,
and yet——"

"And yet, what?"

"And yet, it seems as if, with all my
blessings, that blessing was never likely to be
granted to me. I should be perfectly happy
now, but for one little thing. I suppose you
can't guess what that thing is?"

"I would rather you told me, Rosamond."

"Ever since our child was born, love, I
have had a little aching at the heart—
especially when we are all three together, as we
are now—a little sorrow that I can't quite
put away from me, on your account."

"On my account! Lift up your head,
Rosamond, and come nearer to me. I feel
something on my hand which tells me that
you are crying."

She rose directly, and laid her face close to
his. "My own love," she said, clasping her,
arms fast round him. "My own heart's
darling, you have never seen our child."

"Yes, Rosamond, I see him with your
eyes."

"Oh, Lenny! I tell you everything I can
—I do my best to lighten the cruel, cruel
darkness that shuts you out from that lovely
little face lying so close to you! But can I
tell you how he looks when he first begins
to take notice? can I tell you all the
thousand pretty things he will do, when he first
tries to walk? God has been very merciful
to us—but, oh, how much more heavily the
sense of your affliction weighs on me, now
when I am more to you than your wife, now
when I am the mother of your child!"

"And yet, that affliction ought to weigh
lightly on your spirits, Rosamond; for you
have made it weigh lightly on mine."

"Have I? Really and truly, have I? It
is something noble to live for, Lenny, if I
can live for that! It is some comfort to
hear you say, as you said just now, that you
see with my eyes. They shall always serve
you—oh, always! always!—as faithfully as
if they were your own. The veriest trifle of
a visible thing that I look at with any
interest, you shall as good as look at, too. I
might have had my own little harmless
secrets, dear, with another husband; but,
with you, to have even so much as a thought
in secret, seems like taking the basest, the
cruellest advantage of your blindness. I do
love you so, Lenny! I am so much fonder of
you now, than I was when we were first
married—I never thought I should be, but I
am. You are so much handsomer to me, so
much cleverer to me, so much more precious
to me, in every way. But I am always telling
you that, am I not? Do you get tired of
hearing me? No? Are you sure of that?
Very, very, very sure? " She stopped, and
looked at him earnestly, with a smile on her
lips, and the tears still glistening in her eyes.
Just then, the child stirred a little in his
cot, and drew her attention away. She
arranged the bed-clothes over him, watched
him in silence for a little while, then sat
down again on the stool at Leonard's feet.
"Baby has turned his face quite round
towards you now," she said. " Shall I tell you
exactly how he looks, and what his bed is
like, and how the room is furnished?"

Without waiting for an answer, she began
to describe the child's appearance and position
with the marvellous minuteness of a woman's
observation. While she proceeded, her elastic
spirits recovered themselves, and its naturally
bright, happy expression re-appeared on her
face. By the time the nurse returned to her
post, Rosamond was talking with all her
accustomed vivacity, and amusing her husband
with all her accustomed success.

When they went back to the drawing-
room, she opened the piano, and sat down to
play. "I must give you your usual evening
concert, Lenny," she said, "or I shall be talking
again on the forbidden subject of the
Myrtle Room."

She played some of Mr. Frankland's
favourite airs, with a certain union of feeling
and fancifulness in her execution of the
music, which seemed to blend the charm of
her own disposition with the charm of the
melodies which sprang into life under her