She had received costly gifts that day, but with none had there come a “God bless you,” save with this tiny bouquet, and as she placed it herself in water, she whispered: “I do believe it’s the only blessing I have had. I’ll find the child when I come back, and thank her for it.” She was dressed at last in her handsome black silk, with her jaunty round hat and feather, which made her look so young and girlish, and then turning to Norah she bade her leave the room, as she wished to be alone with her mother for a few moments. “Mother,” she said, when the door had closed on Norah, “Col. Schuyler is so kind and generous, he has told me to ask him anything to-day, and he will grant it; and so I have concluded just for once to bring up the past and ask him if, before leaving England, I may find where baby was buried, and order her a grave-stone. You can attend to it, you know, and I shall feel that everything has been done which I ought to do. What do you think of it?” She was buttoning her gloves as she turned toward her mother, but stopped suddenly, struck by the expression of the face which met her eyes, and which she knew meant so much. “Do nothing of the kind. Are you crazy, girl? Never allude to the child, if you wish to be happy.” Mrs. Barrett spoke rapidly and excitedly; and with a nameless terror of some threatened danger, Edith asked: “Why, mother? Why not mention the child to-day, when he said, ask what I pleased? Why must I not?” “Because—because—” and Mrs. Barrett came close to her and whispered: “He don’t know there was a child. I did not tell him that.” “Don’t know there was a child!” Edith repeated. “What do you mean? I wrote it in the letter,—all, everything; if he read it he knows about my baby. Moth——! Moth——!” She could not say the whole name,—could not articulate another word, for the awful suspicion which flashed upon her, bringing back the hand which clutched her in a death-like grasp, and made her writhe and gasp for breath.