ider the proper language in which to address babies.

When the two brothers were alone together that night, Humphrey said,--

'It is all prosperous and well with you now, George. You have got your
heart's desire, and your fair lady looks fairer, ay, and happier than I
ever saw her.'

'Ay, Humphrey, it is true. At times I wonder at my own good fortune. I had
my fears that she would hanker after fine things and grand folk, but it is
not so. She went with the boy to Wilton two months agone to visit the
Countess of Pembroke, who holds her in a wonderful affection. The boy is
her godson, and she has made him many fine gifts. I was fearful Lucy would
find this home dull after a taste of her old life; but, Heaven bless her,
when I lifted her from the horse with the child on her return, she kissed
me and said, "I am right glad to get home again." I hope, Humphrey, all is
well and prosperous with you also?'

'I may say yes as regards prosperity, beyond what I deserve. I have a place
about the Court, under my Lord Essex, and I was knighted, as you know, for
what they were pleased to call bravery in the Armada fight. After we lost
that wise and noble gentleman, Sir Philip Sidney, everything went crooked
under the Earl of Leicester, and Spain thought she was going to triumph and
crush England with the Armada. But God defended the right, and the victory
is ours. Spain is humbled now. Would to God Sir Philip Sidney had lived to
see it and share the glory.'

George listened as his brother spoke, with flashing eyes, of the final
discomfiture of Spain, and then noticed how his whole manner changed to
softness and sadness, as he went on to say,--

'My heart's desire in the possession of the one woman whom I ever loved is
granted, but, George, I hold her by a slender thread. I have brought her
here with the hope that she may gather strength, but, as you must see, she
is but the shadow of her old self. The good old man at Arnhem counselled me
to take her to her native air, and God grant it may revive her. She is
saint-like in her patience and in her love for me. Heaven knows I am not
worthy of her, yet let me bless God I have her to cherish, and, by all
means that in me lies, fan the flame of her precious life, trusting to see
it burn brightly once more. But, George, I fear more than I hope. What will
all honours and Court favour be to me if I lose her?'

'You will keep her,' George said, in the assured tone that those who are
happy