"Dr. Dove thinks it may be as well to have him baptized. He came into the library just now, as he went out; and, in talking of one thing and another, he chanced to mention this." _Chanced_ to mention this! Mr. Grubb was cautious not to alarm his wife. "The baby is not ill! Is it?" "No, no, I trust not, Adela. It is a delicate little thing; all babies are, perhaps: and--and it is as well, you know, to be on the safe side." "But I should like a christening. A grand, proper christening; to be held when I get well." "Of course. His being baptized now will make no difference to that. I think it must be done, my dear." "In this room, then; by my bedside. I should like to see it." "You shall. And now, what name?" Adela lay back on the pillow, her cheeks slightly flushed with their delicate pink, fresh and pure as the hue of a seashell, her eyes cast upwards in thought. "I should like it to have papa's name--George." "George Frederick?" "Not Frederick: I don't care about the name. George--would you like also your own name--Francis?" she broke off to ask. "George Francis?" "Would you care to have it Francis?" he returned, his tone one of emotion, bending over her until his face nearly touched hers. She heard the tone, she saw the wet eyelashes shading the wonderful grey eyes, with their yearning, earnest expression. It flashed into her mind to remember how few men were his equals, in looks, in worth, in loving indulgence to a rebellious wife. Adela was not quite proof against her better nature. She was not always hard. "Yes, I should; and he has your eyes," she whispered softly, in answer to the question, her own sweet eyes lifted to her husband's. "Adela," he breathed, his voice low with its agitation, "you do love me a little! You surely do!" "Just a very little--sometimes," she whispered in a half-saucy, half-loving tone. And, when he let his face fall on hers, she for once held it there, and welcomed the kisses from his lips. It was all the work of the baby, his child and hers, thought he in his glad heart. But no. Now and again, at rare intervals, Adela did feel a spark of tenderness for him: though instead of letting it come to fruit, of allowing him to see it, she forced it back to the coldness she had taken up, and resolutely steeled her heart against him. Illness had just now somewhat softened her spirit. He went round the bed to the side where the baby lay, and looked at it long and earnestly. The doctor had just told him that he did not feel altogether easy on the score of the child; could not be sure that it was likely to live. "It is a pale little blossom, Adela. I thought babies were generally red." "Frightfully red. I have seen them." "Well, we will get it baptized; and then----" "What?" she cried--for he had stopped. "And then, I was going to say, whether it lives or dies, it will be safe in its Saviour's arms."