"If Victor De Jarnette should lay a finger of his hand upon the child he deserted," she said at white heat, "I should kill him." He knew, of course, that this was mere passionate talk. She was justified in having strong feeling. He thought no more about it. But that night in going over the interview, what she had said that other time came back to him. "It is a thing that must be settled without a go-between," she had said. "And some day it will be." What did she mean by that? A mere separation settled nothing. He feared that Victor might give her trouble about the child. CHAPTER IX THE REAPING OF THE CROP "Oh, Mammy Cely, look! _look!_ he is standing alone!" Margaret was sitting on the floor, her lips parted in rapturous delight at the temerity of her infant son, who was rather shakily making his little experiment with the center of gravity. Unfortunately for its success, he became aware at the critical moment of the sensation he was creating, tottered, and sank in a heap, a victim--like many another who essays the trial of his powers--to self-consciousness. To partial mother eyes, however, it had been a triumph new in the annals of the world, and Margaret caught him up, smothering him with kisses, and pouring into his ears the most extravagant encomiums. Ah! if only we--the children of a larger growth--could have our feeble efforts to stand upon our feet; to make some progress, however slight, along the way, to utter, though imperfectly, the thoughts that cry for speech; if we--in all this--could have a tithe of the wealth of sympathy and stimulating praise that mothers give, what might we not become? Mammy Cely looked on with equal pride. "He certainly is mighty ser_vi_grous on his laigs," she remarked with pride. "He's gwineter be walkin' befo' long, that chile is! He's like his Uncle Richard. He gwineter git his strengt early." Margaret made no reply to this. The truth was, she got rather tired of hearing about Philip's Uncle Richard. To her the weeks were becoming mere pegs on which to hang some new phase of the child's development. There was such an astonishing succession of "first things,"--yesterday the first tooth--a pearl such as nobody had ever seen before; to-day the wonderful feat of standing alone; to-morrow the blissful anticipation of the first step; the next day perhaps the first word,--and then, oh, what a world of companionship that would let her into! Life was closing up behind her, but opening in front. "Now get him ready, Mammy Cely, for his ride. I want him to be out all he can this fine weather. A little later, you know--well, what is it?" she interrupted herself to ask of the man who now stood at the door. He had a scared look. "Mr. De Jarnette is down stairs, Miss." "Mr. De Jarnette? What in the world has he come for at this time of day?" wondered Margaret. "Tell him I will be down at once."