ans,--since little Marian was left to me,--save that it
seemed so strange to omit her also. Besides, there grew to be something
a little oppressive in this peculiar atmosphere; it was like living in
a greenhouse.

Yet they always spoke in the simplest way of this absorbing passion, as
of something about which no reticence was needed; it was too sacred not
to be mentioned; it would be wrong not to utter freely to all the world
what was doubtless the best thing the world possessed. Thus Kenmure
made Laura his model in all his art; not to coin her into wealth or
fame,--he would have scorned it; he would have valued fame and wealth
only as instruments for proclaiming her. Looking simply at these two
lovers, then, it was plain that no human union could be more noble or
stainless. Yet so far as others were concerned, it sometimes seemed to
me a kind of duplex selfishness, so profound and so undisguised as to
make one shudder. "Is it," I asked myself at such moments, "a great
consecration, or a great crime?" But something must be allowed,
perhaps, for my own private dis-satisfactions in Marian's behalf.

I had easily persuaded Janet to let me have a peep every night at my
darling, as she slept; and once I was surprised to find Laura sitting
by the small white bed. Graceful and beautiful as she always was, she
never before had seemed to me so lovely, for she never had seemed quite
like a mother. But I could not demand a sweeter look of tenderness than
that with which she now gazed upon her child.

Little Marian lay with one brown, plump hand visible from its full
white sleeve, while the other nestled half hid beneath the sheet,
grasping a pair of blue morocco shoes, the last acquisition of her
favorite doll. Drooping from beneath the pillow hung a handful of
scarlet poppies, which the child had wished to place under her head, in
the very superfluous project of putting herself to sleep thereby. Her
soft brown hair was scattered on the sheet, her black lashes lay
motionless upon the olive cheeks. Laura wished to move her, that I
might see her the better.

"You will wake her," exclaimed I, in alarm.

"Wake this little dormouse?" Laura lightly answered. "Impossible."

And, twining her arms about her, the young mother lifted the child from
the bed, three or four times in succession, while the healthy little
creature remained utterly undisturbed, breathing the same quiet breath.
I watched Laura with amazement; she seemed transf