eart had been formerly stifled in a cold, ungenial home.

Sustained from hour to hour by his unremitting care, she did, however,
struggle through the next three days; and at last came a sounder sleep,
and a wakening so tranquil, that Arthur did not perceive it, till he
saw, in the dim lamp-light, those dark eyes calmly fixed upon him. The
cry of the infant was heard, and she begged for it, fondling it, and
murmuring over it with a soft inarticulate sound of happiness.

'You purr like an old cat over her kitten,' said Arthur, longing to
see her smile once more; and he was not disappointed; it was a bright,
contented, even joyous smile, that played on the colourless features,
and the eyes beamed softly on him as she said, 'Kiss him, papa.'

He would have done anything for her at that moment, and another bright
look rewarded him.

'Does mamma know about this dear little baby?' she said, presently.

'Yes, dearest, I have written every day. She sends you her love;' and as
Violet murmured something of 'Dear mamma--'

'Do you wish to have her here?'

'No, indeed, I don't wish it now,' said Violet; 'you do make me so very
happy.'

She was returning to her full self, with all her submission to his
will, and in fact she did not wish for any change; her content in his
attention was so complete, so peaceful, that in her state of weakness
there was an instinctive dread of breaking the charm. To lie still,
her babe beside her, and Arthur watching her, was the perfect repose of
felicity, and imperceptibly her faculties were, one by one, awakening.
Her thoughtfulness for others had revived; Arthur had been giving her
some nourishment, and, for the first time, she had taken it with a
relish, when it so chanced that the light fell for a moment on his face,
and she was startled by perceiving the effects of anxiety and want of
sleep. In vain he assured her there was nothing the matter. She accused
herself of having been exacting and selfish, and would not be comforted,
till he had promised to take a good night's rest. He left her, at
length, nearly asleep, to carry the tidings to his brother, and enjoy
his look of heart-felt rejoicing. Never had the two very dissimilar
brothers felt so much drawn together; and as John began, as usual,
to wait on him, and to pour out his coffee, he said, as he sat down
wearied, 'Thank you, John, I can't think what would have become of me
without you!'

'My father would have come to you if I had no