and child. The baby-fingers clasped tightly the soft
lace at her bosom. A petal had fallen upon the tiny wrist. She had
lifted her hand to remove it; and, catching the baby-eyes, so dark and
shining, paused for a moment, and smiled.

Jane, watching them, fell to desperate weeping. The "mere boy" had
understood her potential possibilities of motherhood far better than
she understood them herself. Having had one glimpse of her as "The
Wife," his mind had leaped on, and seen her as "The Mother." And again
she was forced to say: "It is true--yes; it is true."

And then she recalled the old line of cruel reasoning:

"It was not the sort of face one would have wanted to see always in
front of one at table." Was this the sort of face--this, as Garth had
painted it, after a supposed year of marriage? Would any man weary of
it, or wish to turn away his eyes?

Jane took one more long look. Then she dropped the little bear, and
buried her face in her hands; while a hot blush crept up to the very
roots of her hair, and tingled to her finger-tips.

Below, the fresh young voice was singing again.

"O Joy, that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to Thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain
That morn shall tearless be."

After a while Jane whispered: "Oh, my darling, forgive me. I was
altogether wrong. I will confess; and, God helping me, I will explain;
and, oh, my darling, you will forgive me?"

Once more she lifted her head and looked at the picture. A few stray
petals of the crimson rambler lay upon the ground; reminding her of
those crushed roses, which, falling from her breast, lay scattered on
the terrace at Shenstone, emblem of the joyous hopes and glory of love
which her decision of that night had laid in the dust of disillusion.
But crowning this picture, in rich clusters of abundant bloom, grew the
rambler rose. And through the open window came the final verse of
Maggie's hymn.

"O Cross, that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from Thee;
I lay in dust life's glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be."

Jane went to the western window, and stood, with her arms stretched
above her, looking out upon the radiance of the sunset. The sky blazed
into gold and crimson at the horizon; gradually as the eye lifted,
paling to primrose, flecked with rosy clouds; and, overhead, deep