put him to bed till you
had seen him."

And there slept poor Sidney, his fair cheek pillowed on his arm; the
soft, silky ringlets thrown from the delicate and unclouded brow;
the natural bloom increased by warmth and travel; the lovely face so
innocent and hushed; the breathing so gentle and regular, as if never
broken by a sigh.

Mr. Morton drew his hand across his eyes.

There was something very touching in the contrast between that wakeful,
anxious, forlorn woman, and the slumber of the unconscious boy. And
in that moment, what breast upon which the light of Christian pity--of
natural affection, had ever dawned, would, even supposing the world's
judgment were true, have recalled Catherine's reputed error? There is
so divine a holiness in the love of a mother, that no matter how the
tie that binds her to the child was formed, she becomes, as it were,
consecrated and sacred; and the past is forgotten, and the world and its
harsh verdicts swept away, when that love alone is visible; and the God,
who watches over the little one, sheds His smile over the human deputy,
in whose tenderness there breathes His own!

"You will be kind to him--will you not?" said Mrs. Morton; and the
appeal was made with that trustful, almost cheerful tone which implies,
'Who would not be kind to a thing so fair and helpless?' "He is very
sensitive and very docile; you will never have occasion to say a hard
word to him--never! you have children of your own, brother."

"He is a beautiful boy-beautiful. I will be a father to him!"

As he spoke,--the recollection of his wife--sour, querulous,
austere--came over him, but he said to himself, "She must take to such
a child,--women always take to beauty." He bent down and gently pressed
his lips to Sidney's forehead: Mrs. Morton replaced the shawl, and drew
her brother to the other end of the room.

"And now," she said, colouring as she spoke, "I must see your wife,
brother: there is so much to say about a child that only a woman will
recollect. Is she very good-tempered and kind, your wife? You know I
never saw her; you married after--after I left."

"She is a very worthy woman," said Mr. Morton, clearing his throat, "and
brought me some money; she has a will of her own, as most women have;
but that's neither here nor there--she is a good wife as wives go; and
prudent and painstaking--I don't know what I should do without her."

"Brother, I have one favour to request--a great favour."

"A