Madeline hastily dried her eyes, strangled her sobs, took her shrieking offspring out of his cradle, and gave him his midday bottle--an operation which appeased his appetite and soothed his feelings. Then she came back to her husband with the child in her arms, and said in a husky voice, “If you had change of air, good food, properly cooked, fruit, wine, and the little delicacies all sick people require, you would get well--I know you would. Promise me, promise that you will try to get better! Promise me that you will wish to get better, Laurence,” she continued tremulously, “for--for our sake.” “I can promise that, at any rate, Maddie,” he answered with a dim smile; “but you know the old proverb about wishes.” “And you know that while there’s life there’s hope,” she answered quickly. “I have hope; you must have hope too! And now I am going out, you will have to mind baby,” placing the white bundle beside his father, who eyed his charge dubiously, as it stared at him stolidly, thumb in mouth. Madeline hurriedly put on her hat and jacket, and, taking a key, unlocked a brass-bound desk, and, after a little search, drew out the morocco case. “Is this it?” she asked, holding it up. “This is what you mean?” A nod assured her that it was. “You would like to look at it once more,” she said, gently laying it in his hand. “I don’t know how to take it. You are so like her, too,” looking down at the little oval miniature of a pretty, spirited girl with dark eyes and dark hair, and seeing her husband’s gaze fixed greedily on the portrait. “You were so fond of her, Laurence.” “Not more than I am of you, Maddie,” he answered, closing the case with a decisive snap. “And my father’s medals,” he said, as he held them up, and looked at them wistfully. “Well, they will fetch a few shillings, and they go in a good cause. Here, take them, my dear, and go, and don’t be long.” Needless to add this formula. Was she ever long? But time passed very slowly when Madeline was absent from those two poor attics which were called home. CHAPTER VIII. NOT MARRIED AFTER ALL. “He has not awoke since, has he?” asked the anxious mother, as, fully an hour later, she reappeared with a bundle and a basket. “No”--with a sigh of relief--“I see he is sound,” laying down her load as she spoke. “And now to begin at the very beginning, and to tell you everything, Laurence,” opening the basket and producing a bottle. “Here is some good port wine; I’ve carried it most carefully, so as not to shake it. You must have a glass at once--that is to be the beginning.” “Oh, Maddie, what extravagance! When you----” “Hush! please to listen,” exhibiting as she spoke a bunch of grapes, six fresh eggs, a jar of Bovril, and a packet of biscuits from her seemingly inexhaustible store, and laying them on the table. “Then you are _not_ going!” exclaimed her husband, in a tone of deep disapproval.