it just makes me hold my breath. Sometimes it seems
as if it was going to swallow up everything and--me. It don't ever do
that, does it, Mr. Gaston?"

"It has done damage of that kind in its time; but generally it obeys
orders and stops at the safety line." Gaston smiled into the wondering
eyes.

"I like the--picture--I like it terribly," breathed the girl, "but I'd
_hate_ the real thing. I am sure it makes a terrific noise." Gaston
nodded, and old memories seemed beating in upon him. "It would wear me
out by its own----"

"Restlessness." Gaston's thought ran along with the cruder one. "Its
restlessness is at times--unbearable, unless--one is very young and
happy."

"But I am young--and happy." Joyce spoke lingeringly and her eyes grew
fixed upon the heart of the coals. "Still I would hate it--and be afraid
of it. It's beautiful--but it's awful. I don't like awful things. I
like to look up at that brave old mountain, and know--it will always be
the same no matter what happens down below."

Suddenly Gaston felt old, very old, beside this girl near him with her
intuitive soul-stretches and her hampered life.

"So the mountain is your favourite picture, Joyce?"

A grandfatherly tone crept into his voice, and the caressing hand
touched the round, pale outline of cheek and chin with the assurance of
age and superiority--but the girl tingled under it.

"No," she said, almost breathlessly, "I like _that_ best of all." And
she pointed a trembling finger toward the Madonna and Child.

Gaston was conscious of a palpitating meaning in the words and gesture.

"Why?" he asked softly.

"Because," the fair head was lowered, not in timidity, but in deep
thought, "because I want it--my baby--to look like that one. I look and
look at the picture, and I dream about it at night. I know every little
dimple and the soft curls--and all. I pray and pray, and if God
answers--then--" a gentle ferocity rang through the hurried words--"I'm
going to _keep_ it so. It's going to be different from any other little
child in St. Ange. And it all fits in, now that Mr. Drew is coming back.
It's just wonderful! It was Mr. Drew that set me thinking about leaving
something better for them as come after. He said terrible strange
things--but you can't forget them, can you? I've been--well, sort of
weeding out my life ever since he was here--and there can't be so
much--for my baby to do--if I clear out my own faults. Can there?"

The girl's absol