There was some little preparation, and then Griffith was ushered into Mercy's room, and found her in bed, looking a little pale, but sweeter and comelier than ever. She had the bedclothes up to her chin. "You look wan, my poor lass," said he; "what ails ye?" "Nought ails me now thou art come," said she, lovingly. Griffith put the bag on the table. "There," said he, "there's five hundred pounds in gold. I come not to thee empty-handed." "Nor I to thee," said Mercy, with a heavenly smile. "See!" And she drew down the bedclothes a little, and showed the face of a babe scarcely three days old: a little boy. She turned in the bed, and tried to hold him up to his father, and said, "Here's _my_ treasure for thee!" And the effort, the flush on her cheek, and the deep light in her dove-like eyes, told plainly that the poor soul thought she had contributed to their domestic wealth something far richer than Griffith had with his bag of gold. The father littered an ejaculation, and came to her side, and, for a moment, Nature overpowered everything else. He kissed the child; he kissed Mercy again and again. "Now God he praised for both," said he, passionately; "but most for thee, the best wife, the truest friend--." He, thinking of her virtues, and the blow he had come to strike her, he broke down, and was almost choked with emotion; whereupon Mrs. Vint exerted female authority, and bundled him out of the room. "Is that the way to carry on at such a time?" said she. "'Twas enow to upset her altogether. Oh, but you men have little sense in women's matters. I looked to _you_ to give her courage, not to set her off into hysterics after a manner. Nay, keep up her heart, or keep your distance, say I, that am her mother." Griffith took this hint, and ever after took pity on Mercy's weak condition; and, suspending the fatal blow, did all he could to restore her to health and spirits. Of course, to do that, he must deceive her; and so his life became a lie. For, hitherto, she had never looked forward much; but now her eyes were always diving into futurity: and she lay smiling and discussing the prospects of her boy; and Griffith had to sit by her side, and see her gnaw the boy's hand, and kiss his feet, and anticipate his brilliant career. He had to look and listen with an aching heart, and assent with feigned warmth, and an inward chill of horror and remorse. One Drummond, a travelling artist, called; and Mercy, who had often refused to sit to him, consented now; for, she said, when he grows up he shall know how his parents looked in their youth, the very year their darling was born. So Griffith had to sit with her, and excellent likenesses the man produced; but a horrible one of the child. And Griffith thought,--"Poor soul; a little while and this picture will be all that shall be left to thee of me."