in fact all trace of her illness has
passed away; but Natalie is worn and weary with tending her pet and
bearing with Louis's hasty temper; she is pale and wan, but ever sweet
tempered. "Hark, baby, there's papa." Izzie ran to meet him. He raised
her in his arms and caressed her, scarcely noticing his fond little
wife, who would have been made happy by a kiss or kind word. Tired and
weary, but with a heart ache which was harder to bear, Natalie lay on
the sofa, she was nothing to him, that was clear.

"Love papa, baby, love papa," he said. Little Izzie threw her arms round
his neck and kissed him, then struggled to get away, "What's the
matter," he asked. "Love mamma, Izzie want's to love mamma." She ran to
her mother and repeated the action. Natalie caught the child in her
arms, kissing her passionately. "Izzie, my darling Izzie," she murmured,
while large tears fell on the child's face. Taking up her pinefore Izzie
gravely wiped her own face, and then tenderly endeavored to dry her
mother's tears, whispering don't cry mamma, Izzie don't like to see
mamma cry," and she nestled to her mothers side, stroking her hair and
kissing her repeatedly. Nothing would have induced Izzie to leave her
mother then, even had Louis attempted it, but he did not, he stood by
the mantlepiece watching them, with an unpleasant sensation, that baby
had no power to dry those tears. He remained there a long time, his head
resting on his hand, while Natalie and baby fell asleep together. From
time to time a deep, deep sigh would escape from Natalie, which was not
pleasant for Louis to hear. Sarah came for baby, but he desired her to
leave her there. After a while, he thought it was not best that she
should be there, and went softly to the sofa and took her away. As he
did so, he remarked for the first time--aye, for the first time--the
worn unhappy expression of Natalie's sweet face, which did not leave it
even in sleep, and stooping over her gave the kiss and kind words to his
sleeping wife, which he had withheld when she might have been made happy
by them. He carried the child to its nurse, then went to his surgery,
busy among his drugs he could not but think of Natalie. How pale she
looked, how fragile she had become, how languid and listless she seemed
of late, he had noticed that, and with no pleasant feeling did he
remember, that he had done so, only to chide her for being lazy. How
blind he had been, he saw plainly enough that she needed