son cloak wrapped around it for
effect, took the child in her own arms, commencing that cooing
conversation which shows how much young mothers love their first born.
Marian's tears ceased at last, and after questioning Helen of Silverton
and its people, she turned abruptly to Katy, still rocking and talking
to her child, and asked:

"What do you intend to call her?"

"Genevra," Katy said, and simultaneously with that word Marian Hazleton
dropped without sound or motion to the floor.

Had Helen and Katy been put upon their oath, both would have testified
that even before the answer came, Marian had fainted, just as she did
when Helen first went to secure her services for Katy's bridal wardrobe.
This time, however, there was no Dr. Grant at hand, and so the
frightened ladies did what they could, bathing her face and chafing
her cold hands until the life came slowly back, and with a frightened
expression Marian looked around her, asking what had happened?

"Yes, I know now," she said, as baby's cry fell on her ear, but
restoring her wholly to herself. "Fainting is one of my weaknesses,"
she continued, turning to Helen. "You have seen me so before. It is my
heart," and with this explanation she satisfied her visitors, though
Katy expressed much solicitude and proposed to send her medical aid.

But Marian declined, and when it was time for Katy to go, she took the
child in her own arms again, and as if there was now a new link which
bound her to it, she kissed it many times, while in the eyes fastened so
lovingly, so wistfully upon its face, there was a strange, yearning look
which neither Helen nor Katy could fathom. Certain it is they had no
suspicion of the truth, and on their way home they spoke with much
concern of these fainting attacks, wondering if nothing could be done
to ward them off.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE NAME.

Wilford had wished for a son, and in the first moment of disappointment
he had almost been conscious of a half-resentful feeling toward Katy,
who had given him only a daughter. A boy, a Cameron heir, was something
of which to be proud, especially as Jamie would always remain a helpless
cripple; but a little girl, scarcely larger than the last doll with
which Katy had played, was a different thing, and it required all
Wilford's philosophy and common sense to keep him from showing his
chagrin to the girlish creature, whose love had fastened with an
idolatrous grasp upon her child, clinging t