iet twilight, where she lay with
an expression of countenance that, though it was not sorrow, made Mrs.
Edmonstone more ready to weep than if it had been; so with her last good
night she left her.

And Amabel always liked to be shut in by herself, dearly as she loved
them all, and mamma especially; there was always something pleasant in
being able to return to her own world, to rest in the thoughts of her
husband, and in the possession of the little unconscious creature that
had come to inhabit that inner world of hers, the creature that was only
his and hers.

She had from the first always felt herself less lonely when quite
alone, before with his papers, and now with his child; and could Mrs.
Edmonstone have seen her face, she would have wept and wondered more, as
Amy fondled and hushed her babe, whispering to it fond words which she
could never have uttered in the presence of any one who could understand
them, and which had much of her extreme youthfulness in them. Not one
was so often repeated or so endearing as 'Guy's baby! Guy's own dear
little girl!' It did not mean half so much when she called it her baby;
and she loved to tell the little one that her father had been the best
and the dearest, but he was gone away, and would she be contented to be
loving and good with only her mother to take care of her, and tell her,
as well as she could, what a father hers was, when she was old enough to
know about him?

To-night, Amy told her much in that soft, solemn, murmuring tone, about
what was to befall her to-morrow, and the great blessings to be given
to her, and how the poor little fatherless one would be embraced in the
arms of His mercy, and received by her great Father in heaven:--'Ay, and
brought nearer to your own papa, and know him in some inner way, and he
will know his little child then, for you will be as good and pure and
bright as he, and you will belong to the great communion of saints
to-morrow, you precious little one, and be so much nearer to him as you
will be so much better than I. Oh! baby, if we can but both endure to
the end!'

With such half-uttered words, Amabel Morville slept the night before her
babe's christening.

CHAPTER 41

A stranger's roof to hold thy head,
A stranger's foot thy grave to tread;
Desert and rock, and Alp and sea,
Spreading between thy home and thee.
--SEWELL

Mary Ross was eager for the first report from Hol