volume in the world.

Others felt and acknowledged its worth as well, for though fashionable

libraries were not besieged by inquiries for it, and no short-lived

enthusiasm welcomed it, a place was found for it on many study tables,

where real work was done. Innocent girls sang the songs and loved the

poet, while thoughtful women, looking deeper, honored the man. Young men

received the Essays as brave protests against the evils of the times,

and old men felt their faith in honor and honesty revive. The wise saw

great promise in it, and the most critical could not deny its beauty and

its power.

Early in autumn arrived a fresh delight; and Jessie's little daughter

became peacemaker as well as idol. Mark forgave his enemies, and swore

eternal friendship with all mankind the first day of his baby's life;

and when his sister brought it to him he took both in his arms, making

atonement for many hasty words and hard thoughts by the broken whisper--

"I have two little Sylvias now."

This wonderful being absorbed both households, from grandpapa to the

deposed sovereign Tilly, whom Sylvia called her own, and kept much with

her; while Prue threatened to cause a rise in the price of stationery by

the daily and copious letters full of warning and advice which she sent,

feeling herself a mother in Israel among her tribe of nine, now safely

carried through the Red Sea of scarlatina. Happy faces made perpetual

sunshine round the little Sylvia, but to none was she so dear a boon as

to her young god-mother. Jessie became a trifle jealous of "old Sylvia,"

as she now called herself, for she almost lived in baby's nursery;

hurrying over in time to assist at its morning ablutions, hovering about

its crib when it slept, daily discovering beauties invisible even to its

mother's eyes, and working early and late on dainty garments, rich in

the embroidery which she now thanked Prue for teaching her against her

will. The touch of the baby hands seemed to heal her sore heart; the

sound of the baby voice, even when most unmusical, had a soothing effect

upon her nerves; the tender cares its helplessness demanded absorbed her

thoughts, and kept her happy in a new world whose delights she had never

known till now.

From this time a restful expression replaced the patient hopelessness

her face had worn before, and in the lullabys she sang the listeners

caught echoes of the cheerful voice they had never thought to hear

again. Gay she was not, but serene. Quiet was all she asked; and

shunning society seemed happiest to sit at home with baby and its gentle

mother, with Mark, now painting as if inspired, or with her father, who

relinquished business and devoted himself to her. A pleasant pause

seemed to have come after troublous days; a tranquil hush in which she

sat waiting for what time should bring her. But as she waited the woman

seemed to bloom more beautifully than the girl had done. Light and color

revisited her countenance clearer and deeper than of old; fine lines

ennobled features faulty in themselves; and the indescribable refinement

of a deep inward life made itself manifest in look, speech, and gesture,

giving promise of a gracious womanhood.

Mr. Yule augured well from this repose, and believed the dawning

loveliness to be a herald of returning love. He was thinking hopeful

thoughts one day as he sat writing to Moor, whose faithful correspondent

he had become, when Sylvia came in with one of the few notes she sent

her husband while away.

"Just in time. God bless me, child! what is it?"

Well might he exclaim, for in his daughter's face he saw an expression

which caused his hope to suddenly become a glad belief. Her lips smiled,

though in her eyes there lay a shadow which he could not comprehend, and

her answer did not enlighten him as she put her arm about his neck and

laid her slip of paper in his hand.

"Enclose my note, and send the letter; then, father, we will talk."