Suddenly Mrs. Caiaphas came out from the dining-room. Gilderman had not expected to see her. Then instantly he saw that she had been crying. Her eyes were red and her face was tremulous. "Oh, Henry," she cried out, "where have you been? We have been sending everywhere for you." She came quickly forward as she spoke and caught him by the hands, holding them strenuously, almost convulsively. Gilderman stood as though turned to stone; the silence of the house had become suddenly leaden. His wife! What had happened? He stood still, holding the packet of letters unthinkingly in his hand. "What is it, mother?" he said, forcing himself to speak. "Oh, Henry," said Mrs. Caiaphas, "do you know that you are a father? It is a little son. But poor, poor Florence. It was terrible!" "And she?" said Gilderman. He dared hardly whisper the words. "She is well. She has been asking for you all the while." Gilderman's heart leaped with a sudden poignant relief that was almost an agony. The time had come--had passed, and all was well; but to think that he should have been away at such a time! His mind flew back to what he had seen and done that day, and now he suddenly saw, as in a clear light, how mad had been the folly that had led him away from home at such a time and for such a purpose. Again he told himself that he would certainly go crazy if he tampered any more with such monstrous things, and once more he registered a vow that he would never again make such a fool of himself. Oh, what a fool he had been! He had crossed the hallway with Mrs. Caiaphas and they were going up the stairs together. "Where have you been, Henry?" she said. "Oh, I was called out of town unexpectedly," he replied. Dr. Willington was drinking a glass of Maderia in the anteroom at the head of the stairs. There was a crumbled biscuit upon a plate on the table. The doctor turned to Gilderman with a beaming face. He reached out his hand, and Gilderman took it and pressed it almost convulsively. As he was about to loosen his hand he caught it again and pressed it, almost clinging to it. The doctor laughed. "May I see her?" said Gilderman. Again Dr. Willington laughed. "Not just yet," he said; "the nurse is with her now. You may see her presently." Gilderman heard a sharp, piping wail somewhere in the distance. It was the voice of a newborn child. Mrs. Caiaphas had left him, going into the room beyond with the doctor, and he was left alone. He looked down and saw that he still held the packet of letters, and then again he ran them over. The Roman letter was for his wife. As he stood there he heard the bishop's voice down in the hall. At the same moment Mrs. Caiaphas came out of the room again. She was followed by the nurse. "You may go in now, Henry, and see her," she said. The white-capped, white-aproned nurse stood at the door. She was strange to Gilderman, but she smiled pleasantly at him, and he bowed to her as he entered.