would not till I was quite sure."

"Thank God! God be praised!" said Sir Tom. He did not pretend to be a
religious man on ordinary occasions, but at the present moment he had no
time to think, and spoke from the bottom of his heart. He supported his
little wife tenderly on one arm, and put back the disordered hair on her
forehead. "Now you will go and take a little rest, my darling," he said.

"Not yet, not till the doctor comes. But you want it as much as I."

"No; I had a long sleep on the sofa. We are all making fools of
ourselves, Lucy. The poor little chap will be all right. We are queer
creatures. To think that you and I should make ourselves so miserable
over a little thing like that, that knows nothing about it, that has no
feelings, that does not care a button for you and me."

"Tom, what are you talking of? Not of my boy, surely--not my boy!"

"Hush, my sweet. Well," said Sir Tom, with a tremulous laugh, "what is
it but a little polypus after all? that can do nothing but eat and
sleep, and crow perhaps--and clap its little fat hands," he said, with
the tears somehow getting into his voice, and mingling with the
laughter. "I allow that I am confusing my metaphors."

At this moment the window opening upon the terrace jarred again, and
another figure in a dressing-gown, dark and ghost-like, appeared
beckoning to Lucy, "My lady! my lady!"

Lucy let go her husband's arm, thrust him away from her with passion,
gave him one wild look of reproach, and flew noiselessly like a spirit
after the nurse to her child. Sir Tom, with his laugh still wavering
about his mouth, half hysterically, though he was no weakling, tottered
along the terrace to the open window, and stood there leaning against
it, scarcely breathing, the light gone out of his eyes, his whole soul
suspended, and every part of his strong body, waiting for what another
moment might bring to pass.

CHAPTER IX.

A CHRISTMAS VISIT.

Little Tom did not die, but he became "delicate,"--and fathers and
mothers know what that means. The entire household was possessed by one
pervading terror lest he should catch cold, and Lucy's life became
absorbed in this constant watchfulness. Naturally the Christmas guests
were put off, and it was understood in respect to the Contessa di
Forno-Populo, that she was to come at Easter. Sir Tom himself thought
this a better arrangement. The Parliamentary recess was not a long one,
and the Contessa would naturally pr