ld accompany her, and they found that there
was not a single available woman in the house. It was impossible to
let her go alone, and Cumberland, with the curses rising from his heart
to his lips, was forced, in very manhood, to go with her himself.

In Brooklyn Mrs. Creswell met them herself at the door, and appeared
surprised--as well she might--to see Mr. Cumberland. She motioned
Ethel toward the staircase, and then with a formal inclination of the
head, ushered her more unwelcome guest into a small parlor where there
was a fire and a lamp burning. Here she left him alone. Her house was
in the suburbs, and there was nowhere else for him to go at that hour
of the night and in that terrible storm.

The room was warm and cheerful, a child's toys lay scattered on floor
and sofa, a little hat and coat were on the table, beside a cigar case
and a crumpled newspaper. There was nothing for the man to do save to
stare around and walk the floor impatiently, longing for death to
hasten with his work, so that the false position might be ended.

Guided by unerring instinct, Ethel went straight to the chamber where
her child lay dying--perhaps already dead. Outside the door she paused
with her hand pressed hard on her throbbing heart.

It was a piteous sight that met her view as the door swung open,
rendered doubly piteous by the circumstances. A luxurious room, a
brooding silence, a tiny white bed on which a little child lay, slowly
and painfully breathing his life away.

CHAPTER XXI.

There were two persons in the room besides the little one: Thorne and
the doctor, a grave, elderly man, who bowed to the lady, and, after a
whispered word with Thorne, withdrew. Ethel sank on her knees beside
the low bed and stretched out yearning arms to the child; the
mother-love awakened at last in her heart and showing itself in her
face.

"My baby!" she moaned, "my little one, don't you know your mother?
Open your beautiful eyes, my darling, and look at me; it is your mother
who is calling you!" Her bonnet had fallen off, the rich wrap and furs
were trailing on the carpet where she had flung them; her arms were
gathered close around the little form, her kisses raining on the pallid
face, the golden hair.

The sleet beat on the window panes; the air of the room stirred as
though a dark wing pressed it; the glow of the fire looked angry and
fitful; a great, black lump of coal settled down in the grate and
broke; in its s