d not come down to dinner."

"No," added Guy, wondering and dolefully, "sister has not been down to
dinner with us for a great many days."

The mother started; looked first at her husband, and then at me.

"Why did nobody tell me this?"

"Love--there was nothing new to be told."

"Has the child had any illness that I do not know of?"

"No."

"Has Dr. Jessop seen her?"

"Several times."

"Mother," said Guy, eager to comfort--for naughty as he was sometimes,
he was the most tender-hearted of all the boys, especially to Muriel
and to his mother,--"sister isn't ill a bit, I know. She was laughing
and talking with me just now--saying she knows she could carry baby a
great deal better than I could. She is as merry as ever she can be."

The mother kissed him in her quick, eager way--the sole indication of
that maternal love which was in her almost a passion. She looked more
satisfied.

Nevertheless, when Mrs. Tod came into the parlour, she rose and put
little Maud into her arms.

"Take baby, please, while I go up to see Muriel."

"Don't--now don't, please, Mrs. Halifax," cried earnestly the good
woman.

Ursula turned very pale. "They ought to have told me," she muttered;
"John, YOU MUST let me go and see my child."

"Presently--presently--Guy, run up and play with Muriel. Phineas, take
the others with you. You shall go up-stairs in one minute, my darling
wife!"

He turned us all out of the room, and shut the door. How he told her
that which was necessary she should know--that which Dr. Jessop himself
had told us this very morning--how the father and mother had borne this
first open revelation of their unutterable grief--for ever remained
unknown.

I was sitting by Muriel's bed, when they came up-stairs. The darling
laid listening to her brother, who was squatted on her pillow, making
all sorts of funny talk. There was a smile on her face; she looked
quite rosy: I hoped Ursula might not notice, just for the time being,
the great change the last few weeks had made.

But she did--who could ever blindfold a mother? For a moment I saw her
recoil--then turn to her husband with a dumb, piteous, desperate look,
as though to say, "Help me--my sorrow is more than I can bear!"

But Muriel, hearing the step, cried with a joyful cry, "Mother! it's my
mother!"

The mother folded her to her breast.

Muriel shed a tear or two there--in a satisfied, peaceful way; the
mother did not weep at all. Her self