m one to the other with his dazzled
eyes.

'At four this afternoon,' answered Alice, scarce able to articulate. 'A
little girl.'

'She had to have chloroform,' said Virginia, who looked a miserable,
lifeless object, and shook like one in an ague.

'And all's well?'

'We think so--we hope so,' they stammered together.

Alice added that the doctor was to make another call to-night. They had
a good nurse. The infant seemed healthy, but was a very, very little
mite, and had only made its voice heard for a few minutes.

'She knows you sent for me?'

'Yes. And we have something to give you. You were to have this as soon
as you arrived.'

Miss Madden handed him a sealed envelope; then both the sisters drew
away, as if fearing the result of what they had done. Widdowson just
glanced at the unaddressed missive and put it into his pocket.

'I must have something to eat,' he said, wiping his forehead. 'When the
doctor comes I'll see him.'

This visit took place while he was engaged on his supper. On coming
down from the patient the doctor gave him an assurance that things were
progressing 'fairly well'; the morning, probably, would enable him to
speak with yet more confidence. Widdowson had another brief
conversation with the sisters, then bade them good-night, and went to
the room that had been prepared for him. As he closed the door he heard
a thin, faint wail, and stood listening until it ceased; it came from a
room on the floor below.

Having brought himself with an effort to open the envelope he had
received, he found several sheets of notepaper, one of them, remarked
immediately, in a man's writing. At this he first glanced, and the
beginning showed him that it was a love-letter written to Monica. He
threw it aside and took up the other sheets, which contained a long
communication from his wife; it was dated two months ago. In it Monica
recounted to him, with scrupulous truthfulness, the whole story of her
relations with Bevis.

'I only make this confession'--so she concluded--'for the sake of the
poor child that will soon be born. The child is yours, and ought not to
suffer because of what I did. The enclosed letter will prove this to
you, if anything can. For myself I ask nothing. I don't think I shall
live. If I do I will consent to anything you propose. I only ask you to
behave without any pretence; if you cannot forgive me, do not make a
show of it. Say what your will is, and that shall be enough'.

He