BEFORE she dressed, Anstice went again to her window, and this time she could not help giving a cry of delight. Such an exquisite view was before her. First a sloping green park with magnificent old spreading trees grouped here and there, under which cattle were browsing, then the blue lake like a sheet of glass lying between the purple Fells, which ranged themselves around it, in various heights and shapes, and with beautiful shadows passing to and fro. Directly underneath her window was a wide terrace walk; then, on a lower level, a well-kept lawn, on one side of which was a long herbaceous border already bright with flowers. At the bottom of the lawn was an old wall covered with fruit trees and flowering shrubs and creepers, and a gate in the middle of it which led into the park. An hour later she left her room; for a big bell was ringing, and that was a summons to breakfast. She had heard childish voices about the house, and once, from her window, had a flying glimpse of two short-frocked, long-legged girls, chasing each other across the lawn. As she was crossing the corridor outside her room to go downstairs, she passed a room which had the door open, and heard her husband's voice: he evidently had caught sight of her, and called her in. "I want to introduce my son to you." It was the old nursery. Anstice saw at once that it was a large and sunny room, and was far more comfortable in every way than the room downstairs. Justin sat upon a chintz-covered couch under one of the big windows, and in his arms was his boy. For a moment Anstice surprised a look upon his face, that she had never thought possible for him to wear. It was of passionate tenderness and love; and then, as he looked up from the little face nestling against his shoulder, the hard light was in his eyes again, and the easy, indifferent tone upon his lips. "This is Rufus, commonly known as Ruffie, and this, Ruffie, is your stepmother. Shake hands with her and wish her well." Anstice impulsively went down on her knees before the child. She almost started, as she saw a face of exquisite beauty. Red gold curls clustered about a broad white brow with large brown eyes, which looked up at her with a mixture of pathos and mischief in their depths. A little delicate oval face, with small pointed chin and a most beautiful mouth, belonged to Ruffie. His complexion was like a blush rose, his tiny white hands were those of an artist, the rest of his poor little body was crippled and deformed. He wore a tussore silk shirt with a pale blue tie, but a shawl was wrapped round his legs. One small hand shot out in response to his father's words. Anstice took it, and held it for a moment in both hers. But she met a look of horror and incredulity from the child. "We are going to be friends," she said, smiling at him. "A stepmother!" Ruffie's voice rose shrilly. "Does that mean she's going to live here always, or are you going to take her away with you, Dad?"