Marian asked if baby had been christened?

"Not yet, we cannot decide upon a name," was the reply, while Marian
continued:

"I understood your daughter that it was to be Genevra."

Marian Hazelton was growing too familiar, and so the lady deigned no
answer, but stepped a little to one side, as if she would thus indicate
that the conference was ended.

Dropping her veil entirely over her face, for the servant was now
lighting the parlor lamps, Marian turned toward the door which Mrs.
Cameron opened, and she passed out just as up the steps came Wilford,
Marian's skirts brushing him as she passed, and her heart beating
painfully as she thought of her escape and began to realize the danger
she incurred when she accepted the office of partial nurse to his child.

"Dark, mother? How is that? Why is the hall not lighted?" she heard him
say, and the old, familiar tones, so little changed, vibrated sadly in
her ear, as she dashed away a tear, and then hurried on through the
darkened streets toward her humble home, so different from the Cameron's.

"Who was that, mother?" Wilford said, expressing regret that he had not
happened in a little earlier, so as to have seen her himself, and
asking what his mother thought of her.

"I liked her. She seemed a well-bred person, and her voice is much like
Genevra's."

Wilford turned his eyes quickly upon his mother, who continued:

"I did not think of her, it is true, until Miss Hazelton inquired about
baby's name, and said she understood from Katy that it was to be
Genevra. Then it came to me whose her voice was like. Genevra's, you
know, was very musical."

"Yes," Wilford answered, and in his eyes there was a look of pain, such
as thoughts of Genevra always brought.

She was in his mind when he ran up his father's steps, not Genevra
living, but Genevra dead--she who slept in that lone corner of the
churchyard across the sea. "Genevra Lambert, aged twenty-two," and not
Genevra, aged nearly thirty-two, if she had been still living. Kindly,
regretfully, he always spoke of her now, separating her entirely from
the little fairy who was mistress of his house and love--Katy, who was
preferred before Genevra, and to whom no wrong was done, he thought, by
his sad memories of the beautiful English girl, whose grave was at St.
Mary's, and whose picture was so securely hidden from every eye save his
own. He never liked to talk of her now, and he changed the subject at
once, asking when