The Bow of Orange Ribbon: A Romance of New York

“The town’s a golden, but a fatal, circle, Upon whose magic skirts a thousand devils, In crystal forms, sit tempting Innocence, And beckoning Virtue from its centre.”

The trusting, generous letter which Joris had written to his son-in-law arrived a few days before Hyde’s departure for London.  With every decent show of pleasure and gratitude, he said, “It is an unexpected piece of good fortune, Katherine, and the interest of five thousand pounds will keep Hyde Manor up in a fine style.  As for the principal, we will leave it at Secor’s until it can be invested in land.  What say you?”

Katherine was quite satisfied; for, though naturally careful of all put under her own hands, she was at heart very far from being either selfish or mercenary.  In fact, the silver cup was at that hour of more real interest to her.  It would be a part of her old home in her new home.  It was connected with her life memories, and it made a portion of her future hopes and dreams.  There was also something more tangible about it than about the bit of paper certifying to five thousand pounds in her name at Secor’s Bank.

But Hyde knew well the importance of Katherine’s fortune.  It enabled him to face his relatives and friends on a very much better footing than he had anticipated.  He was quite aware, too, that the simple fact was all that society needed.  He expected to hear in a few days that the five thousand pounds had become fifty thousand pounds; for he knew that rumour, when on the boast, would magnify any kind of gossip, favourable or unfavourable.  So he was no longer averse to meeting his former companions:  even to them, a rich wife would excuse matrimony.  And, besides, Hyde was one of those men who regard money in the bank as a kind of good conscience:  he really felt morally five thousand pounds the better.  Full of hope and happiness, he would have gone at a pace to suit his mood; but English roads at that date were left very much to nature and to weather, and the Norfolk clay in springtime was so deep and heavy that it was not until the third day after leaving that he was able to report for duty.

His first social visit was paid to his maternal grandmother, the dowager Lady Capel.  She was not a nice old woman; in fact, she was a very spiteful, ill-hearted, ill-tempered old woman, and Hyde had always had a certain fear of her.  When he landed in London with his wife, Lady Capel had fortunately been at Bath; and he had then escaped the duty of presenting Katherine to her.  But she was now at her mansion in Berkeley Square, and her claims upon his attention could not be postponed; and, as she had neither eyes nor ears in the evenings for any thing but loo or whist, Hyde knew that a conciliatory visit would have to be made in the early part of the day.

He found her in the most careless dishabille, wigless and unpainted, and rolled up comfortably in an old wadded morning-gown that had seen years of snuffy service.  But she had out-lived her vanity.  Hyde had chosen the very hour in which she had nothing whatever to amuse her, and he was a very welcome interruption.  And, upon the whole, she liked her grandson.  She had paid his gambling-debts twice, she had taken the greatest interest in his various duels, and sided passionately with him in one abortive love-affair.

“Dick is no milksop,” she would say approvingly, when told of any of his escapades; “faith, he has my spirit exactly!  I have a great deal more temper than any one would believe me capable of”—­which was not the truth, for there were few people who really knew her ladyship who ever felt inclined to doubt her capabilities in that direction.

So she heard the rattle of Hyde’s sword, and the clatter of his feet on the polished stairs, with a good deal of satisfaction.  “I have him here, and I shall do my best to keep him here,” she thought.  “Why should a proper young fellow like Dick bury himself alive in the fens for a Dutchwoman?  In short, she has had enough, and too much, of him.  His grandmother has a prior claim, I hope, and then Arabella Suffolk will help me.  I foresee mischief and amusement.—­Well, Dick, you rascal, so you have had to leave America!  I expected it.  Oh, sir, I have heard all about you from Adelaide!  You are not to be trusted, either among men or women.  And pray where is the wife you made such a fracas about?  Is she in London with you?”

“No, madam:  she preferred to remain at Hyde, and I have no happiness beyond her desire.”

“Here’s flame!  Here’s constancy!  And you have been married a whole year!  I am struck with admiration.”

“A whole year—­a year of divine happiness, I assure you.”

“Lord, sir!  You will be the laughing-stock of the town if you talk in such fashion.  They will have you in the play-houses.  Pray let us forget our domestic joys a little.  I hear, however, that your divinity is rich.”

“She is not poor; though if”—­

“Though if she had been a beggar-girl you would have married her, rags and all.  Swear to that, Dick, especially when she brings you fifty thousand pounds.  I’m very much obliged to her; you can hardly, for shame, put your fingers in my poor purse now, sir.  And you can make a good figure in the world; and as your cousin Arabella Suffolk is staying with me, you will be the properest gallant for her when Sir Thomas is at the House.”

“I am at yours and cousin Arabella’s service, grandmother.”

“Exactly so, Captain; only no more quarrelling and fighting.  Learn your catechism, or Dr. Watts, or somebody.  Remember that we have now a bishop in the family.  And I am getting old, and want to be at peace with the whole world, if you will let me.”

Hyde laughed merrily.  “Why, grandmother, such advice from you!  I don’t trust it.  There never was a more perfect hater than yourself.”

“I know, Dick.  I used to say, ’Lord, this person is so bad, and that person is so bad, I hate them!’ But at last I found out that every one was bad:  so I hate nobody.  One cannot take a sword and run the whole town through.  I have seen some very religious people lately; and you will find me very serious, and much improved.  Come and go as you please, Dick:  Arabella and you can be perfectly happy, I dare say, without minding me.”

“What is the town doing now?”

“Oh, balls and dances and weddings and other follies!  Thank the moon, men and women never get weary of these things!”

“Then you have not ceased to enjoy them, I hope.”

“I still take my share.  Old fools will hobble after young ones.  I ride a little, and visit a little, and have small societies quite to my taste.  And I have my four kings and aces; that is saying everything.  I want you to go to all the diversions, Dick; and pray tell me what they say of me behind my back.  I like to know how much I annoy people.”

“I shall not listen to anything unflattering, I assure you.”

“La, Dick, you can’t fight a rout of women and men about your grandmother!  I don’t want you to fight, not even if they talk about Arabella and you.  It is none of their business; and as for Sir Thomas Suffolk, he hears nothing outside the House, and he thinks every Whig in England is watching him—­a pompous old fool!”

“Oh, indeed!  I had an idea that he was a very merry fellow.”

“Merry, forsooth!  He was never known to laugh.  There is a report that he once condescended to smile, but it was at chess.  As for fighting, he wouldn’t fight a dog that bit him.  He is too patriotic to deprive his country of his own abilities.  No, Dick; I really do not see any quarrel ahead, unless you make it.”

“I shall think of my Kate when I am passionate, and so keep the peace.”

“‘I shall think of my Kate.’  Grant me patience with all young husbands.  They ought to remain in seclusion until the wedding-fever is over.  By the Lord Harry!  If Jack Capel had spoken of me in such fashion, I would have given him the best of reasons for running some pretty fellow through the heart.  Hush!  Here comes Arabella, and I am anxious you should make a figure in her eyes.”

Arabella came in very quietly, but she seemed to take possession of the room as she entered it.  She had a bright, piquant face, a tall, graceful form, and that air of high fashion which is perhaps quite as captivating.

She was “delighted to meet cousin Dick.  Oh, indeed, you have been the town talk!” she said, with an air of attention very flattering.  “Such a passionate encounter was never heard of.  The clubs were engaged with it for a week.  I was told that Lord Paget and Sir Henry Dutton came near fighting it over themselves.  Was it really about a bow of orange ribbon?  And did you wear it over your heart?  And did the Scotchman cut it off with his sword?  And did you run him through the next moment?  There were the most extraordinary accounts of the affair, and of the little girl with the unpronounceable Dutch name who”—­

“Who is now my wife, Lady Suffolk.”

“Certainly, we heard of that also.  How romantic!  The secret marriage, the midnight elopement, and the man-of-war waiting down the river with a broadside ready for any boat that attempted to stop you.”

“Oh, my lady, that is the completest nonsense!”

“Say ‘cousin Arabella,’ if you please.  Has not grandmother told you that I, not the Dutch girl, ought to have been your wife?  It was all arranged years ago, sir.  You have disappointed grandmother; as for me, I have consoled myself with Sir Thomas.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Lady Capel; “though Dick was entirely out of the secret of the match, my son Will and I had agreed upon it.  I don’t know what Will thinks of a younger son like Dick choosing for himself.”

Then Arabella made Hyde a pretty, mocking courtesy, and he could not help looking with some interest at the woman who might have been his wife.  The best of men, and the best of husbands, are liable to speculate a little under such circumstances, and in fancy to put themselves into a position they have probably no wish in reality to fill.  She noticed his air of consideration; and, with a toss of her handsome head, she spread out all her finery.  “You see,” she said, “I am dressed so as to make a tearing show.”  She wore a white poudesoy gown, embroidered with gold, and the prettiest high-heeled satin slippers, and a head-dress of wonderful workmanship.  “For I have been at a concert of music, cousin Dick, and heard two overtures of Mr. Handel’s and a sonata by Corella, done by the very best hands.”

[Illustration:  She spread out all her finery]

“And, pray, whom did you see there, my dear? and what were they talking about?”

“Of all people, grandmother, I saw Lady Susan Rye and the rest of her sort; and they talked of nothing else but the coming mask at Ranelagh’s.  Cousin, I bespeak you for my service.  I am going as a gypsy, for it will give me the opportunity of telling the truth.  In my own character, I rarely do it:  nothing is so impolite.  But I have a prodigious regard for truth; and at a mask I give myself the pleasure of saying all the disagreeable things that I owe to my acquaintances.”

Katherine was almost ignored; and Hyde did not feel any desire to bring even her name into such a mocking, jeering, perfectly heartless conversation.  He was content to laugh, and let the hour go past in such flim-flams of criticism and persiflage.  He remembered when he had been one of the units in such a life, and he wondered if it were possible that he could ever drift back into it.  For even as he sat there, with the memory of his wife and child in his heart, he felt the light charm of Lady Arabella’s claim upon him, and all the fascination of that gay, thoughtless animal life which appeals so strongly to the selfish instincts and appetites of youth.

He had a plate of roast hare and a goblet of wine, and the ladies had chocolate and rout cakes; and he ate and drank, and laughed, and enjoyed their bright, ill-natured pleasantry, as men enjoy such piquant morsels.  Thus a couple of hours passed; and then it became evident, from the pawing and snorting outside, that Mephisto’s patience was quite exhausted.  Hyde went to the window, and looked into the square.  His orderly was vainly endeavoring to soothe the restless animal; and he said, “Mephisto will take no excuse, cousin, and I find myself obliged to leave you.”  But he went away in an excitement of hope and gay anticipations; and, with a sharp rebuke to the unruly animal, he vaulted into the saddle with soldierly grace and rapidity.  A momentary glance upward showed him Lady Capel and Lady Suffolk at the window, watching him; the withered old woman in her soiled wrappings, the youthful beauty in all the bravery of her white and gold poudesoy.  In spite of Mephisto’s opposition, he made them a salute; and then, in a clamour of clattering hoofs, he dashed through the square.

“That is the man you ought to have married Arabella,” said Lady Capel, as she watched the young face at her side, which had suddenly become pensive and dreamy:  “you would have been a couple for the world to look at.”

“Oh, indeed, you are mistaken, grandmother!  Sir Thomas is an admirable husband—­blind and deaf to all I do, as a good husband ought to be.  And as for Dick, look at him—­bowing and smiling, and ready to do me any service, while the girl he nearly died for is quite forgotten.”

“Upon my word, you wrong Dick.  His love for that woman is beyond everything.  I wish it wasn’t.  What right had she to come into our family, and spoil plans and projects made before she was born.  I should clearly love to play her her own card back.  And I must say, Arabella, that you seem to care very little about your own wrongs.”

“Oh, I am by no means certified that the woman has wronged me!  I don’t think I should have loved Dick, in any case.”

“Ha!” Lady Capel looked in her granddaughter’s musing face, and then, with a chuckle, hobbled to the bell and rang for her maid.  “You are very prudent, child, but I am not one that any woman can deceive.  I know all the tricks of the sex.  Oh, heavens! what a grand thing to be two and twenty, with a kind husband to manage, and lovers bowing and begging at your shoe-ties!  Well, well, I had my day; and, thank the fools, I did some mischief in it!  Yes, there were eight duels fought for me; and while Somers and Scrope were wetting their swords in the quarrel, I was dancing with Jack Capel.  Jack told me that night he would make me marry him; and when I slapped his cheek with my fan, he took my hands in a rage, and swore I should do it that hour.  And, faith, he mastered me!  Your grandfather Capel had a dreadful temper, Arabella.”

“I have heard that Cousin Dick Hyde has a temper too.”

“Dick is vain; and you can make a vain man stand on his head, or go down on his knees, if you only vow that he performs the antics better than any other human creature.  The town will fling itself at Dick Hyde’s feet, and Dick will fling himself at yours.  Mind what I say; my prophecies always come true, Arabella, for I never expect sinners to be saints, my dear.”

And during the next six months Lady Capel found plenty of opportunities for complimenting herself upon her own penetration.  Society made an idol of Capt.  Hyde; and if he was not at Lady Arabella’s feet, he was certainly very constantly at her side.  As to his marriage, it was a topic of constant doubt and dispute.  The clubs betted on the subject.  In the ball-rooms and the concert-rooms, the ladies positively denied it; and Lady Arabella’s smile and shrug were of all opinions the most unsatisfactory and bewildering.  Some, indeed, admitted the marriage, but averred, with a meaning emphasis, that madam was on the proper side of the Atlantic.  Others were certain that Hyde had brought his wife to England, but felt himself obliged, on account of her great beauty, to keep her away from the conquering heroes of London society.  It was a significant index to Hyde’s real character, that not one of his associates ever dared to be familiar enough to ask him for the truth on a question so delicately personal.

“Hyde is exactly the man to invite me to meet him in Marylebone Fields for the answer,” said a young officer, who had been urged to make inquiries because he was on familiar terms with his comrade.  “If it comes to a matter of catechism, gentlemen, I’ll bet ten to one that none of you ask him two consecutive questions regarding the American lady.”

And perhaps many husbands may be able to understand a fact which to the general world seems beyond satisfactory explanation.  Hyde loved his wife, loved her tenderly and constantly; he felt himself to be a better man whenever he thought of her and his little son, and he thought of them very frequently; and yet his eyes, his actions, the tones of his voice, daily led his cousin, Lady Suffolk, to imagine herself the empress of his heart and life.  Nor was it to her alone that he permitted this affectation of love.  He found beauty, wherever he met it, provocative of the same apparent devotion.  There were a dozen men in his own circle who hated him with all the sincerity that jealousy gives to dislike and envy; there were a score of women who believed themselves to have private tokens of Hyde’s special admiration for them.

Unfortunately, his military duties were only on very rare occasions any restraint to him.  His days were mainly spent in dangling after Lady Suffolk and other fair dames.  It was auctions at Christie’s, and morning concerts, and afternoon rides and plays, and dinners and balls and masks at Ranelagh’s.  It was sails down the river to Richmond, and trips to Sadler’s Wells, and one perpetual round of flirting and folly, of dressing and dancing and dining and gaming.

[Illustration:  All kinds of frivolity and amusement]

And it must be remembered that the English women of that day were such as England may well hope never to see again.  They had little education:  many very great ladies could hardly read and spell properly.  Their sole accomplishments were dressing and embroidery; the ability to make a few delicate dishes for the table, and scents and pomade for the toilet.  In the higher classes they married for money or position, and gave themselves up to intrigue.  They drank deeply; they played high; they very seldom went to church, for Sunday was the fashionable day for all kinds of frivolity and amusement.  And as the men of any generation are just what the women make them, England never had sons so profligate, so profane and drunken.  The clubs, especially Brooke’s, were the nightly scenes of indescribable orgies.  Gambling alone was their serious occupation; duels were of constant occurrence.

Such a life could not be lived except at frightful and generally ruinous expense.  Hyde was soon embarrassed.  His pay was small and uncertain and the allowance which his brother William added to it, in order that the heir-apparent to the earldom might live in becoming style, had not been calculated on the squandering basis of Hyde’s expenditures.  Toward Christmas bills began to pour in, creditors became importunate, and, for the first time in his life, creditors really troubled him.  Lady Capel was not likely to pay his debts any more.  The earl, in settling Hyde’s American obligations, had warned him against incurring others, and had frankly told him he would permit him to go to jail rather than pay such wicked and foolish bills for him again.  The income from Hyde Manor had never been more than was required for the expenses of the place; and the interest on Katherine’s money had gone, though he could not tell how.  He was destitute of ready cash, and he foresaw that he would have to borrow some from Lady Capel or some other accommodating friend.

He returned to barracks one Sunday afternoon, and was moodily thinking over these things, when his orderly brought him a letter which had arrived during his absence.  It was from Katherine.  His face flushed with delight as he read it, so sweet and tender and pure was the neat epistle.  He compared it mentally with some of the shameless scented billet-doux he was in the habit of receiving; and he felt as if his hands were unworthy to touch the white wings of his Katherine’s most womanly, wifely message.  “She wants to see me.  Oh, the dear one!  Not more than I want to see her.  Fool, villain, that I am!  I will go to her.  Katherine!  Kate!  My dear little Kate!” So he ejaculated as he paced his narrow quarters, and tried to arrange his plans for a Christmas visit to his wife and child.

First he went to his colonel’s lodging, and easily obtained two weeks’ absence; then he dressed carefully, and went to his club for dinner.  He had determined to ask Lady Capel for a hundred pounds; and he thought it would be the best plan to make his request when she was surrounded by company, and under the pleasurable excitement of a winning rubber.  And if the circumstances proved adverse, then he could try his fortune in the hours of her morning retirement.

The mansion in Berkeley Square was brilliantly lighted when he approached it.  Chairs and coaches were waiting in lines of three deep; coachmen and footmen quarrelling, shouting, talking; link-boys running here and there in search of lost articles or missing servants.  But the hubbub did not at that time make his blood run quicker, or give any light of expectation to his countenance; for his heart and thoughts were near a hundred miles away.

Sunday night was Lady Capel’s great card-night, and the rooms were full of tables surrounded by powdered and painted beauties intent upon the game and the gold.  The odour of musk was everywhere, and the sound of the tapping of gold snuff-boxes, and the fluttering of fans, and the sharp, technical calls of the gamesters, and the hollow laughter of hollow hearts.  There was a hired singing-girl with a lute at one end of the room, babbling of Cupid and Daphne, and green meadow and larks.  But she was poorly dressed and indifferent looking; and she sang with a sad, mechanical air, as if her thoughts were far off.  Hyde would have passed her without a glance; but, as he approached, she broke her love-ditty in two, and began to sing, with a meaning look at him,—­

“They say there is a happy land,
Where husbands never prove untrue;
Where lovely maids may give their hearts,
And never need the gift to rue;
Where men can make and keep a vow,
And wives are never in despair. 
I’m very fond of seeing sights—­
Pray tell me, how can I get there?”

The question seemed so directly addressed to Hyde that he hesitated a moment, and looked at the girl, who then with a mocking smile continued,—­

“They say there really is a land,
Where husbands never are untrue,
Where wives are always beautiful,
And the old love is always new. 
I’ve asked the wise to tell me how
A loving woman could get there;
And this is what they say to me,—­
’If you that happy land would see,
There’s only one way to get there: 
Go straight along the crooked lane,
And all around the square.’”

The scornful little song followed him, and conveyed a certain meaning to his mind.  The girl must have taken her cue from the gossip of those who passed her to and fro.  He burned with indignation, not for himself, but for his sweet, pure Katherine.  He was determined that the world should in the future know that he held her peerless among women.  In this half-aggressive mood he approached Lady Capel.  She had been unfortunate all the evening, and was not amiable.  As he stood behind her chair, Lord Leffham asked,—­

“What think you, Hyde, of a party at picquet?”

“Oh, indeed, my lord, you are too much for me!”

“I will give you three points.”  Then, calling a footman, “Here, fellow, get cards.”

Lady Capel flung her own down.  “No, no, Leffham.  Spare my grandson:  there are bigger fish here.  Dick, I am angry at you.  I have a mind to banish you for a month.”

“I am going to Norfolk for two weeks, madam.”

[Illustration:  “Dick, I am angry at you”]

“That will do.  It is a worse punishment than I should have given you.  Norfolk!  There is only one word between it and the plantations.  At this time of the year, it is a clay pudding full of villages.  Give me your arm, Dick; I shall play no more until my luck turns again.  Losing cards are dull company indeed.”

“I am very sorry that you have been losing.  I came to ask for the loan of a hundred pounds, grandmother.”

“No, sir, I will not lend you a hundred pounds; nor am I in the humour to do anything else you desire.”

“I make my apology for the request.  I ought to have asked Katherine.”

“No, sir, you ought not to have asked Katherine.  You ought to take what you want.  Jack Capel took every shilling of my fortune and neither said ‘by your leave’ nor ‘thank you.’  Did the Dutchman tie the bag too close?”

“Councillor Van Heemskirk left it open, in my honour.  When I am scoundrel enough to touch it, I shall not come and see you at all, grandmother.”

“Upon my word, a very pretty compliment!  Well, sir, I’ll pay you a hundred pounds for it.  When do you start?”

“To-morrow morning.”

“Make it afternoon, and take care of me as far as your aunt Julia’s.  The duke is of the royal bed-chamber this month, and I am going to see my daughter while he is away.  It will make him supremely wretched at court to know that I am in his house.  So I am going there, and I shall take care he knows it.”

“I have heard a great deal of his new house.”

“A play-house kind of affair, Dick, I assure you,—­all in the French style; gods and goddesses above your head, and very badly dressed nymphs all around, and his pedigree on every window, and his coat of arms on the very stairs.  I have the greatest satisfaction in treading upon them, I assure you.”

“Why do you take the trouble to go?  It can give you no pleasure.”

“Imagine the true state of things, Dick.  The duke is at court—­say he is holding the royal gold wash-basin; but in the very sunshine of King George’s smile, he is thinking, ’That snuffy old woman is lounging in my white and gilt satin chairs, and handling all my Chinese curiosities, and asking if every hideous Hindoo idol is a fresh likeness of me.’  I am always willing to take some trouble to give pleasure to the people I like; I will gladly go to any amount of trouble to annoy the people I hate as cordially as I hate my good, rich, noble son-in-law, the great Duke of Exmouth.”

“Will you play again?”

“No; I lost seventy pounds to-night.”

“I protest, grandmother, that such high stakes go not with amusement.  People come here, not for civility, but for the chance of money.”

“Very well, sir.  Money!  It is the only excuse for card-playing.  All the rest is sinning without temptation.  But, Dick, put on the black coat to preach in,—­why do they wear black to preach in?—­and I am not in a humour for a sermon.  Come to-morrow at one o’clock; we shall reach Julia’s before dinner.  And I dare say you want money to-night.  Here are the keys of my desk.  In the right-hand drawer are some rouleaus of fifty pounds each.  Take two.”

[Illustration:  She was softly singing to the drowsy child]

The weather, as Lady Capel said, was “so very Decemberish” that the roads were passably good, being frozen dry and hard; and on the evening of the third day Hyde came in sight of his home.  His heart warmed to the lonely place; and the few lights in its windows beckoned him far more pleasantly than the brilliant illuminations of Vauxhall or Almacks, or even the cold splendours of royal receptions.  He had given Katherine no warning of his visit—­partly because he had a superstitious feeling about talking of expected joys (he had noticed that when he did so they vanished beyond his grasp); partly because love, like destiny, loves surprises; and he wanted to see with his own eyes, and hear with his own ears, the glad tokens of her happy wonder.

So he rode his horse upon the turf, and, seeing a light in the stable, carried him there at once.  It was just about the hour of the evening meal, and the house was brighter than it would have been a little later.  The kitchen fire threw great lustres across the brick-paved yard; and the blinds in Katherine’s parlour were undrawn, and its fire and candle-light shone on the freshly laid tea-table, and the dark walls gleaming with bunches of holly and mistletoe.  But she was not there.  He only glanced inside the room, and then, with a smile on his face, went swiftly upstairs.  He had noticed the light in the upper windows, and he knew where he would find his wife.  Before he reached the nursery, he heard Katherine’s voice.  The door was a little open, and he could see every part of the charming domestic scene within the room.  A middle-aged woman was quietly putting to rights the sweet disorder incident to the undressing of the baby.  Katherine had played with it until they were both a little flushed and weary; and she was softly singing to the drowsy child at her breast.

It was a very singular chiming melody, and the low, sweet, tripping syllables were in a language quite unknown to him.  But he thought that he had never heard music half so sweet and tender; and he listened to it, and watched the drowsy, swaying movements of the mother, with a strange delight,—­

“Trip a trop a tronjes,
De varkens in de boonjes,
De keojes in de klaver,
De paardeen in de haver,
De eenjes in de waterplass,
So groot mijn kleine Joris wass.”

Over and over, softer and slower, went the melody.  It was evident that the boy was asleep, and that Katherine was going to lay him in his cradle.  He watched her do it; watched her gently tuck in the cover, and stand a moment to look down at the child.  Then with a face full of love she turned away, smiling, and quite unconsciously came toward him on tiptoes.  With his face beaming, with his arms opened, he entered; but with such a sympathetic understanding of the sweet need of silence and restraint that there was no alarm, no outcry, no fuss or amazement.  Only a whispered “Katherine,” and the swift rapture of meeting hearts and lips.

[Illustration:  Chapter heading]