and
desperately tired. Mrs. Clinton felt that except for having done
something towards healing the wound made by her late experience she had
accomplished little. Cicely's eyes had been partially opened, and it was
not in her mother's power to close them again. It was only natural that
she should now turn for a time eagerly towards the quiet life she had
been so eager to run away from. But when her thoughts had settled down
again, when weeks and months had divided her from her painful awakening,
and its memory had worn thin, would she then be content, or would these
desires, which no one could say were unreasonable, gain strength again
to unsettle and dispirit her? It was only too likely. And if they did,
what chance was there of satisfying them?

Mrs. Clinton thought over these things when she had tucked Cicely up in
her bed and sat by her side until she was asleep. Cicely had begged her
to do this, Cicely, her mother's child again, who, the night before had
lain awake hour after hour, alone, trembling at the unknown and longing
for the dear familiar. There was deep thankfulness in the mother's heart
as she watched over her child restored to her love and protection, but
there was sadness too, and some fear of the future, which was not
entirely in her hands.

Cicely was soon asleep. Mrs. Clinton gently disengaged the hand she had
been holding, stood for a time looking down upon her, fondly but rather
sadly, and crept out of the room. It was nearly one o'clock, so long had
their confidences lasted, but as she came downstairs, for Cicely's room
was on the second floor, Walter came out of his bedroom dressed to go
out.

"Hullo, mother!" he said. "Not in bed yet! I've been called up. Child
with croup. I don't suppose I shall be long, and Muriel is going down to
make me some soup. If you'd like a yarn with her----"

Muriel came out in her dressing-gown. "I said I would always make him
soup when he was called out at night," she said, "and this is the first
time. I'm a good doctor's wife, don't you think so, Mrs. Clinton? Is
Cicely asleep?"

"Yes, I have just left her. I will come down with you, dear, and help
you make Walter's soup."

So they went down together and when they had done their work, bending
together over a gas stove in the kitchen, which was the home of more
black beetles than was altogether desirable, although it was otherwise
clean and bright and well-furnished, they sat by the dining-room table
awaitin