her, recalling so vividly every
feeling she had experienced when that dear head had come so
unexpectedly to its resting-place upon her bosom. "It is true," she
whispered; and again: "Yes; it is true. I cannot deny it. It is as I
felt; it must be as I looked."

And then, suddenly; she fell upon her knees before the picture. "Oh, my
God! Is that as I looked? And the next thing that happened was my boy
lifting his shining eyes and gazing at me in the moonlight. Is THIS
what he saw? Did I look SO? And did the woman who looked so; and who,
looking so, pressed his head down again upon her breast, refuse next
day to marry him, on the grounds of his youth, and her superiority?...
Oh, Garth, Garth! ... O God, help him to understand! ... help him
to forgive me!"

In the work-room just below, Maggie the housemaid was singing as she
sewed. The sound floated through the open window, each syllable
distinct in the clear Scotch voice, and reached Jane where she knelt.
Her mind, stunned to blankness by its pain, took eager hold upon the
words of Maggie's hymn. And they were these.

"O Love, that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in Thee;
I give Thee back the life I owe,
That in Thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be."

"O Light, that followest all my way,
I yield my flick'ring torch to Thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in Thy sunshine's blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be."

Jane took the second picture, and placed it in front of the first.

The same woman, seated as before; but the man was not there; and in her
arms, its tiny dark head pillowed against the fulness of her breast,
lay a little child. The woman did not look over that small head, but
bent above it, and gazed into the baby face.

The crimson rambler had grown right across the picture, and formed a
glowing arch above mother and child. A majesty of tenderness was in the
large figure of the mother. The face, as regarded contour and features,
was no less plain; but again it was transfigured, by the mother-love
thereon depicted. You knew "The Wife" had more than fulfilled her
abundant promise. The wife was there in fullest realisation; and, added
to wifehood, the wonder of motherhood. All mysteries were explained;
all joys experienced; and the smile on her calm lips, bespoke ineffable
content.

A rambler rose had burst above them, and fallen in a shower of crimson
petals upon mother