A glorious summer was once more brooding over sea and land, when one

morning, in Nance's cottage, a feeble wail was heard; a sound which

brought a flood of happiness to Valmai, for nothing could wholly crush

the joyous welcome of a mother's heart. For a little while the past

months of sorrow and weariness were forgotten. The bitter

disappointment caused by Cardo's silence, lying deep below the surface,

was of so mysterious a nature that she scarcely found words to express

it even to herself. That he was false, that he had forgotten her,

never entered her mind. Some dire misfortune had befallen him; some

cruel fate detained him. Was it sickness? Was it death? There was

nothing for her but to bear and to wait; and God had sent this tiny

messenger of love to help and comfort her in her weary waiting. She

still believed that Cardo would return; he had promised, and if he were

living he would keep his promise--of this she felt certain. Secure

from the sneers and scornful glances of the world, alone in Nance's

cottage, her heart awoke afresh to the interests of life. Her baby boy

was bright and strong, and she watched with delight his growing

likeness to Cardo; the black hair, the black eyes, and the curve on the

rosebud mouth, which reminded her so much of his smile. Nance wondered

much at the girl's cheerfulness, and sometimes felt it her duty to

remind her, by look or tone, of the sorrow connected with her child's

birth.

"Look at him, Nance. See these lovely little feet, and there's strong

he is!"

"Yes, druan bâch, he is a beautiful boy, indeed," she would answer

with a sigh, drawing her wrinkled finger over the fresh soft cheek.

Valmai began to chafe at the want of brightness which surrounded her

little one's life. She was proud of him, and wished to take him into

the village.

"No, my child," said Nance gently, "you had better not."

"Why not?" was on Valmai's lips, but she hesitated. A deep blush

crimsoned her face. "My boy has nothing to be ashamed of," she said,

with a proud toss of her head.

"When is he to be christened?" was Nance's next question.

"September."

"September!" gasped the old woman, "he will be three months old; and

what if anything should happen to him before then?"

"Nothing shall happen to him," said Valmai, folding him to her heart.

"My life and my body are larger than his, and they will both have to go

before any harm reaches him."

"There's a foolish thing to say," said Nance, "and I wonder at you,

merch i. You ought to know by this time that we are clay in the hands

of the Potter. Little heart, he ought to be christened, and have a

name of his own."




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