ound her, and was
kissing her lips.

"Oh, Art! so you did come, after all!" says she, with a catch in her
breath and a gush of joy to her heart. She had her son, her own son
again! And for a minute she forgot everything else--the missed letter,
Art's wife....

"Come? And why wouldn't I come? What else? Och, but it's grand, the
smell of the turf! And the Crib the same as ever! Och, mother, mother!
But where's Delia? Some tricks you and her is up to! Has them hid 'on'
me? Delia! Delia! where at all are you?"

At that the mother drew a piece away from him. Her face that had been
smiling and rosy even, like a girl's face, grew stiff and white.

"Delia! Delia! he can think of nothing else," she thought. It all came
back upon her, like a bad dream. Her son had a wife now! And she had
held out her hand to them, and they had slighted it!

What did Art mean, coming in like a strong wind? Gay and pleasant as
summer air at first, but his face changed and became black and stormy
and his voice was a strange, fierce voice, asking again, "Where's
Delia?"

"I know nothing about her! How could I?"

"Sure she was to be here ..."

"We got no word ..."

"No word! Is it that no one met them at the train? My God! what has
become of her and the child? And the night it was!"

The child? What child? the mother was trying to ask, but the words were
stopped on her lips, and Art was stopped at the door, in his mad rush
forth to look for his wife and baby, by the appearance before them of
Michael. Stopped them both, I say, but without a word being spoken. It
was just the look in the old man's face that made them both fall back a
step and stand still, looking at Michael in a sort of wonder and fright.
His eyes were shining, as if he had been in another world, and had
scarcely got back to earth again. He stood facing them for a minute with
the same far-away look; then he took each of them by the hand, and just
breathed out, "Come! come with me and see what's in the stable ..."

They went. The wind had fallen and the rain had ceased. A beautiful moon
had risen, and was shining, but you could not see her, only the light
she shed down from her throne on high through the soft white mist that
had risen from the wet ground and was wavering and dancing solemnly to
and fro, filling the space between heaven and earth, as if to veil the
sacred sights of the Holy Eve from mortal eyes. The father and mother
and son moved silently through the misty,