Not that Beauchamp Chancellor's wife said or thought all this to herself; she speculated and theorised and philosophised much less than of old; she lived more in the present, taking life, as we all must take it sooner or later, if it is to be endurable at all, in a day-by-day fashion, leaving the "huge mounds of years," the bewildering mazes of whys and wherefores, past and future, to be considered "by-and-by"-- by-and-by, when surely we shall see things somewhat more clearly, more justly, more divinely, but a by-and-by which will never come to us if, dissatisfied with the fair promise of its far-off beauty, we seek to grasp its shadowy substance before the time. So, in a sense--must it not always be but in a sense?--Eugenia was happy. Happier perhaps possibly, because she thought less about being happy than in the old days. She had seen before her in imagination a dreary road; to her surprise, ever and again as she walked along, fresh flowers began to spring by the wayside--little unobtrusive blossoms, hardly distinguishable till her foot had all but crushed out their tender life; tiny buds of brightness and sweetness, bringing many an unexpected spot of colour or breath of fragrance into her daily life. She grew to be very thankful that her child was a boy; she learnt to be grateful for every link of sympathy between her husband and herself, she tried her utmost to strengthen and rivet each one of these; and though, apparently, at least, her efforts often failed, sometimes, on the other hand, she was rewarded by success surpassing her most sanguine hopes. "He is not a grand character," Roma had said, justly, "but, all the same, there is a great deal of good in him; and of all people, you, Eugenia, have most power to draw out and strengthen this." And these simple words Beauchamp's wife henceforth never allowed herself to forget. They reached Halswood safe and well on a lovely spring evening. There stood Mrs Grier, her black silk dress relieved for once by some cheerful pink ribbons, tears of joy in her eyes at the non-fulfilment of her many gloomy prophecies. It was indeed, as she took care to inform her mistress, "a day she had little expected ever to see." But Eugenia could smile at her now, as she assured her that "the luck had certainly turned" with the arrival of the great crowing baby who was to bring life and brightness to the old house.