k with her."

"I don't know much about the case," was all that the Canon said. "I hope
justice will be done in it when it comes on."

Dion thought that there was something rather implacable in his voice.

"I don't believe Mrs. Clarke doubts that."

"Did she say so?" asked Canon Wilton.

"No. But I felt that she expected to win--almost knew she would win."

"I see. She has confidence in the result."

"She seems to have."

"Women often have more confidence in difficult moments than we men.
Well, here I must leave you."

He held out his big, unwavering hand to Dion.

"Good-by. God bless you both, and the child, whether it's plain or
not. One good thing's added to us when we start rather ill-favored; the
chance of growing into something well-favored."

He gripped Dion's hand and walked slowly, but powerfully, away.

CHAPTER IV

As Dion had said, the baby was an ordinary baby. "In looks," the nurse
remarked, "he favors his papa." Certainly in this early stage of his
career the baby had little of the beauty and charm of Rosamund. As his
head was practically bald, his forehead, which was wrinkled as if by
experience and the troubles of years, looked abnormally high. His face,
full of puckers, was rather red; his nose meant very little as yet; his
mouth, with perpetually moving lips, was the home of bubbles. His eyes
were blue, and looked large in his extremely small countenance, which
was often decorated with an expression of mild inquiry. This expression,
however, sometimes changed abruptly to a network of wrath, in which
every feature, and even the small bald head, became involved. Then the
minute feet made feeble dabs, or stabs, at the atmosphere; the tiny
fists doubled themselves and wandered to and fro as if in search of the
enemy; and a voice came forth out of the temple, very personal and very
intense, to express the tempest of the soul.

"Hark at him!" said the nurse. "He knows already what he wants and what
he _don't_ want."

And Rosamund, listening as only a mother can listen, shook her head over
him, trying to condemn the rage, but enjoying the strength of her
child in the way of mothers, to whom the baby's roar perhaps brings the
thought, "What a fine, bold man he'll be some day." If Rosamund had such
a thought the nurse encouraged it with her. "He's got a proud spirit
already, ma'am. He's not to be put upon. Have his way he will, and I
don't altogether blame him." Nor, be sure, did Rosamund a