“Couldn’t you?” he questioned, while the blue eyes grew softly a-shine. “Couldn’t you, to-day? Couldn’t you, for instance, go out to them to spend Christmas, to-day?” His plan, long suppressed, came hurrying forth. “It’s so near, and so easy! Only thirty miles to that baby! The train leaves at ten, you have time. There’s another train back at seven-two. And you needn’t mind about me. I shall be out all day, first a visit I must make, then the service, and afterward I dine with Mrs. Hollister. You are quite free, you see, to go!” “I’m free enough, yes,” she admitted, “but I haven’t the will to go, that’s all.” “To the baby?” “To Florence! It would mean making up with Florence!” Lips and eyes showed a quick pleading smile as he said, “Isn’t that perhaps what Christmas and babies are for, for making up?” She was silent, her breast in its tightly hooked black rose and fell. “But people!” she broke forth at length. “Everybody knowing! The village knows I was turned out, and that there’s not been a word between us for three years. I can’t go crawling back now, just because there’s a baby come,--everybody looking on, everybody knowing!” “It isn’t everybody’s baby. It’s yours, and hers,” then gravely, “I was not thinking of other people. I was just thinking how much she needs her mother, that girl!” “Florence!” she said, and there were many thoughts in her tone, slow, incredulous. The Bishop’s eyes grew remote and bright, seeing Florence. He spoke a little dreamily, “She needs you now, and she knows she needs you! She may have been hard once, being young and without a mother. She may have been cruel. It is different now. She does not feel so secure now. They are so afraid for their babies, don’t you remember, always, these little new mothers. There are so many dangers lying in wait for the little men before they’ve got their armor on. There must be advice to give, and care to give--oh, Florence knows how much he needs his grandmother! Go and see. Can’t you? Couldn’t you? I--I’m in such a hurry to have you go!” “If I could only hold him once, Dan’s baby!” “Florence’s baby, too,” he corrected gently. The brief light swept from her face. Her plump comfortable hands were knotted, and her round face drawn into dignity by pain. Her words were grave and final, “The way to that baby is only through Florence, so I can never go. I can never have him.”