nd
gives it tenfold power; and no poet could have felt with such a
breathless and agonised realisation the difference between the
accomplished and the possible, the past which nothing can alter, and the
pain and sickening terror with which we anticipate what may come. Ellen
had entered into the calm of the one. She herself stood facing wildly
the unspeakable terror of the other. "Oh, Tom, I could not bear it, I
could not bear it!" she cried.

It was almost morning before he had succeeded in soothing her, in
making her lie down and compose herself. But by that time nature had
begun to take the task in hand, wrapping her in the calm of exhaustion.
Sir Tom had the kindest heart, though he had not been without reproach
in his life. He sat by her till she had fallen into a deep and quiet
sleep, and then he stole into the nursery and cast a glance at little
Tom by the dim light of the night lamp. His heart leaped to see the
child with its fair locks all tumbled upon the pillow, a dimpled hand
laid under a dimpled cheek, ease and comfort and well-being in every
lovely curve; and then there came a momentary spasm across his face, and
he murmured "Poor little beggar!" under his breath. He was not
panic-stricken like Lucy. He was a man made robust by much experience of
the world, and a child more or less was not a thing to affect him as it
would a young mother; but the pathos of the contrast touched him with a
keen momentary pang. He stole away again quite subdued, and went to bed
thankfully, saying an uncustomary prayer in the emotion that possessed
him: Good God, to think of it; if that poor little beggar had been
little Tom!

Lucy woke to the sound of her boy's little babbling of happiness in the
morning, and found him blooming on her bed, brought there by his father,
that she might see him and how well he was, even before she was awake.
It was thus not till the first minute of delight was over that her
recollections came back to her and she remembered the anguish of the
previous night; and then with a softened pang, as was natural, and warm
flood of thankfulness, which carried away harsher thoughts. But her mind
was in a highly susceptible and tender state, open to every impression.
And when she knelt down to make her morning supplications, Lucy made a
dedication of herself and solemn vow. She said, like the little princess
when she first knew that she was to be made queen, "I will be good." She
put forth this promise tremb