r. Now, what
was mortal of him lay beneath the palm tree, beneath the glowing summer
sky, while the first snow-flakes hung like pearls on her pall. But
as they laid her by her mother's side, who could doubt that they were
together?

CHAPTER XXVI.

At length I got unto the gladsome hill,
Where lay my hope;
Where lay my heart; and, climbing still,
When I had gained the brow and top,
A lake of brackish waters on the ground,
Was all I found.
--GEORGE HERBERT.

Late in the evening of the same snowy 24th of December, a little
daughter awoke to life at Abbotstoke Grange, and, not long after, Mrs.
Arnott came to summon Dr May from the anxious vigil in the sitting-room.
"Come and see if you can do anything to soothe her," she said, with much
alarm. "The first sight of the baby has put her into such a state of
agitation, that we do not know what to do with her."

It was so, when he came to her bedside; that fixed stony look of despair
was gone; the source of tears, so long dried up, had opened again; and
there she lay, weeping quietly indeed, but profusely, and with deep
heaving sobs. To speak, or to leave her alone, seemed equally perilous,
but he chose the first--he kissed and blessed her, and gave her joy. She
looked up at him as if his blessing once more brought peace, and said
faintly, "Now it is pardon--now I can die!"

"The cloud is gone! Thanks for that above all!" said Dr. May fervently.
"Now, my dear, rest in thankful gladness--you are too weak to talk or
think."

"I am weak--I am tired of it all," said Flora. "I am glad to be going
while I am so happy--there are Margaret--my own darling--rest--peace--"

"You are not going, dearest," said her father; "at least, I trust not,
if you will not give way; here is a darling given to you, instead of the
first, who needs you more."

He would have taken the infant from the nurse and held her to her
mother, but, recollecting how little Leonora had drawn her last breath
in his arms, he feared the association, and signed to Mrs. Arnott to
show her the child; but she seemed as yet only able to feel that it was
not Leonora, and the long sealed-up grief would have its way. The tears
burst out again. "Tell Ethel she will be the best mother to her. Name
her Margaret--make her a Daisy of your own--don't call her after me,"
she said, with such passionate caresses, that Mrs. Arnott was glad