ppiness for which she was starving!

Closer and closer yet she folded her, with light caressing motions on
hair and brow, calling to her with all sweet names that deep-hearted
women know, in tones so like a dream that they caught the wandering
consciousness and lighted it with a faint, far hope.

Time is not when such momentous issues are pending. Whether the moments
passed into hours, or whether each instant were so fraught with its
intensity of hope and fear that every heart-throb seemed an eternity,
the yearning watchers never knew. Slowly--or was it swiftly?--Just as
hope was dying in despair--a breath of peace, like the wafting of the
wings of some heavenly messenger, stirred softly among them, dropping
balm on the face of the sleeper.

They bent above her breathlessly; the pale eyelids fluttered and
unclosed.

Her breath came gently and broke in a restful sigh; she lay quietly
within the shielding arms that had held her back from the dread abyss;
the light of recognition was dawning in her eyes.

The Lady Beata trembled for joy; but she scarce dared move or speak;
she kept her eyes fixed on the dear, fragile face,--deep in her heart
that ceaseless prayer for life.

Maestro Gentile was dumb with awe:--it was a miracle! He stood watching,
intent to help--holding his breath lest he should work some harm, while
he kept guard over the nurse who held the sleeping child; he was so
completely under the spell of that wonder-working will that he needed
scarce a sign to work with her.

But the Lady Beata was no thaumaturgist; only a loving woman, standing
where science had failed, translating another's desperate need from her
own depths of sympathy--arresting the oncoming shadow because of her
faith and her great love.

"Now!" she exclaimed under her breath.

She laid the infant on its mother's breast; its dainty breath came and
went upon her face with the fragrance of a violet. She uncurled a little
crumpled, rose-leaf palm and pressed it close upon the mother's
cheek--never moving her gaze, with the will of life strong within it,
from the eyes in which recognition had dawned with a strange, sweet
surprise. A smile was brooding on lips and eyes. One baby-hand lay
clasped in Caterina's--the wee pink fingers closed on hers like the
tendrils of a vine.

The Lady Beata's heart throbbed to breaking, but her voice came low and
calm--stilled with the passion of her gladness, as Caterina's eyes
smiled into hers:

"It