look on my face.

"Why, darling, aren't you glad? I thought you would be almost as glad as I
am myself?" Annie sometimes misunderstood me now.

"Glad! O Annie," was all I could say.

From that day I had but one thought, Annie's baby. Together we wrought all
dainty marvels for its ward-robe; together we planned all possible events
in its life: from the outset I felt as much motherhood to the precious
little unseen one as Annie did. She used to say to me, often,--

"Darling, it will be half my baby, and half yours."

Annie was absolutely and gloriously well through the whole of those
mysterious first months of maternity which are to so many women exhausting
and painful. Every nerve of her body seemed strung and attuned to normal
and perfect harmony. She was more beautiful than ever, stronger than ever,
and so glad that she smiled perpetually without knowing it. For the first
time since the old days, dear Dr. Fearing's face lost the anxious look
with which his eyes always rested upon her. He was more at ease about her
now.

Before light one Sunday morning in December, a messenger rang furiously
at our bell. We had been looking for such tidings and were not alarmed. It
was a fearful storm; wind and sleet and rain and darkness had attended the
coming of Annie's little "Sunday child" into its human life.

"A boy--and Miss Annie's all right," old Caesar said, with a voice almost
as hoarse as the storm outside; and he was gone before we could ask a
question farther.

In less than an hour I stood on the threshold of Annie's room. But I did
not see her until noon. Then, as I crept softly into the dimly-lighted
chamber, the whole scene so recalled her illness of two years before that
my heart stood still with sudden horror, in spite of all my joy. Now, as
then, I knelt silently at her bedside, and saw the sweet face lying white
and still on the pillow.

She turned, and seeing me, smiled faintly, but did not speak.

At her first glance, a speechless terror seized me. This was my Annie! The
woman who for two years had been smiling with my Annie's face had not been
she! The room grew dark. I do not know what supernatural power came to my
aid that I did not faint and fall.

Annie drew back the bed-clothes with a slow, feeble motion of her right
hand, and pointed to the tiny little head nestled in her bosom. She smiled
again, looked at me gently and steadily for a second, and then shut her
eyes. Presently I saw that she was