Strange that we should be subject to such sudden revulsions of feeling! The very words which set the father's mind at rest, jarred upon his feelings, and before he was aware, he had said, almost reproachfully, "Horrible, Humphrey! to stay with me?" "You forget, father--you forget what I should be." "But I would have made it so happy for you, my little Humphrey," burst from Sir Everard. "You should never----" He stopped, for there was a far-away look in the boy's eyes, and he was gazing intently at the picture. Sir Everard thought he was not listening. But in a few minutes he spoke. "I am thinking I should not have minded it so much, if mother were here. I could lie in her arms all day, like I used then (pointing to the picture); but now----" "You could lie in my arms, my darling." "In _yours_, father? you've always got Miles. You never take _me_ in your arms." "I didn't ever think you would care to come, my little Humphrey." "Oh! but I often should though; only I knew you would rather have him." "Oh! hush! hush! When have you wanted to come?" "Well, not so _very_ often, father--only sometimes--a good while ago." "But, my child, I would just as soon have had you as Miles. I only take him because he is so small. Why do you say I would rather have him?" "I thought so, father, because you smiled quite differently when you looked at him, and called him your darling much more than you did me, and kissed him--oh! so much oftener." Sir Everard could have implored the child to stop. He took the thin hand in his and caressed it. "Miles is such a baby you know. I did not think you would be jealous of him." "Jealous?" said Humphrey, rather puzzled; "jealous means angry--doesn't it?" "Well--yes; I suppose it does." "Oh, then, I wasn't jealous," said the boy, earnestly, "because I never was angry. Poor little Miles couldn't remember mother, you see, and I could--so it was quite fair. Only now and then--sometimes it----" "What, dear boy?" "It made me want mother so _dreadfully_," said Humphrey, his eyes filling with tears. "But now," he added, dreamily, for the drowsiness was beginning to overpower him, again, "I'm going to her, or at least God's going to send her to fetch me." And he closed his heavy eyes. Sir Everard sat on, meditating. He mused on the by-gone time when his wife had told him Humphrey was as loving as Miles and he had inwardly denied it; he mused on the responsibility of bringing up children, and the necessity of living constantly with them to hope to understand the complications of their characters; and sadly he reflected on the irreparable loss his children had sustained in the mother, who would have done it all so well.