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 blossom by-and-by into as fine and sweet a flower. "Enfant de l'amour ressemble-toujours au père." Nasha lay long pondering on the sweet phase of her life which was for ever passed, and letting one of her sensitive hands stray over the precious little hostage she had given to fortune, while her other hand and arm held it fast. The room was darkened, but her eyes, accustomed to the gloom, saw that the place where her attendant had been sitting was vacant, and that she was alone.

By-and-by someone fumbled at the latch of the door. Evidently the person was a stranger, unacquainted with the old-fashioned fastening; yet surely there was light in the corridor, and they could see the way to lift it. Was this still a part of the wearying, confused dream through which she had been so long struggling, and which had just now seemed dispelled? The thought—the dread of Ivo rushed upon her, and her delirium threatened to return. Her arm tightened round her child, and every combative instinct within her became suddenly on the alert. He should not take this treasure from her—all else, his love, himself, his name, she deserved to lose, for she had cruelly deceived him; but the child should not be torn from her while she lived. How softly and uncertainly he was moving now that he had got into the room. She watched him from under her half-closed lids—watched him intently, her heart nearly standing still in the stress of her agonizing suspense. He approached her with outstretched arms. She saw that he wore his travelling cloak, and that it was thrown open, showing his firm white throat. Oh, how dear he was to her! What fate could be worse than losing him? Could she survive another parting? She clasped the child and trembled; the bitterness of death was in that moment.

His step was unsteady, and he seemed afraid of knocking something down. Perhaps the outside sunshine still dazzled his eyes, and he could not perceive the objects in that darkened room; but presently he reached the carved bedpost and grasped it with an eager gesture; then he began feeling along the edge of the coverlet towards where she lay. She thought she understood the action; he fancied she was asleep. She could not speak, her throat seemed parched; terror of the moment when he would see her and know the truth, paralyzed her. He seemed to be groping by the side of the bed—it was a strange and ugly word, but she could find no other to express his peculiar movements; then she felt his hand upon her, and her soul seemed to rush out to him, while a convulsive movement agitated her whole being, but no sound came from her parted lips, though she strove to speak his name. Then he stooped, and she felt his lips on hers in such a kiss as they had known but once before.

"Nasha!"

His voice was full of love, and of a new tenderness. She looked into his face, and saw that he was gazing fixedly at her, but there was no horror, no surprise in his eyes. She must have shown the eager astonishment in her, but Ivo did not appear to notice it. She could not immediately to his fond greeting—she could not obey the impulse to raise her unoccupied hand and touch his dear head, for the dread lest he did not yet understand, and lest he would still repudiate her, weighed down her heart. Had Volmer lived long enough to make all right for her? He had been wild, and she had thought him heartless, but perhaps he had loved her, and had remembered, if there had been time—

"Nasha!".

Ivo was clinging to the hand which lay outside the bedclothes. He was bending over her until she could feel his heart beat, and she found him searching for her face as though his eyes were in his fingers. Ah! he loved her still. Volmer's spell was yet upon him, but now he would love the child, and if the child outlived the spell she would form a new and powerful link between them that would make all further spell needless.

"Do you see the child?" she asked, following out her thoughts; "she is so beautiful!"

"How could it be otherwise, Nasha, when her mother is so beautiful?"

She grew paler than ever against the white pillows.

"But you must look at her. See, Ivo!"

He felt for the baby's face as he had felt for hers.

"Is she not beautiful?" asked Nasha.

"You tell me so, love!"

Something in the intonation of his voice, or in his manner, struck a chill into her. She looked keenly at him, forgetting everything in the world beside him; she struggled into a sitting posture, letting the child slip from her arm, and stretched out her strong, supple white hands—those hands he had so justly admired in the early days of their love—to draw him to her. She sought to scrutinize his face, but he lowered his head from her