Theodore Dalbrook did not spend his Easter holidays in Dorsetshire. He had heard from his sisters that Juanita was staying at Swanage with Lady Jane Carmichael. He was unwilling to intrude upon her there, and he had nothing to communicate upon the subject which was at present his only claim upon her interest. Under these circumstances he was easily persuaded to spend his vacation in a ten days’ trip to Holland with Cuthbert Ramsay, who was keenly interested in the result of some experiments which had lately been made at Leyden; and thus it happened that Theodore let some time go by without seeing any member of his family except his father, who came to London occasionally upon business, and whom his son was delighted to entertain and make much of in his chambers or at his club, the serviceable Constitutional. Towards the end of April he read an announcement in the papers which had touched him almost to tears. “On the 23rd inst., at Milbrook Priory, the widow of Sir Godfrey Carmichael, of a posthumous son.” He was thankful for her sake that this new interest had been given to her days—that a new and fair horizon was open to her in this young life, with all its possibilities of love and gladness. It might be that the coming of this child would change the current of her thoughts, that the stern desire for retribution would grow less keen, that the agonizing sense of loss would be softened almost to forgetfulness. He remembered those lovely lines of the poet philosopher’s— “A child, more than all other gifts, Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts.” This child came, he hoped, freighted with healing and comfort, came like the glad spring-time itself, like Adonis or Persephone, with his arms full of flowers. He wrote to his cousin, in tenderest congratulation, a letter breathing a generous affection, without one selfish thought lurking between the lines. Her answer came after nearly a month’s delay, but, although tardy, it was most delightful to him. Juanita asked him to be godfather to her boy; and he could easily imagine that this was the highest honour she could offer him. “In London half the young men I used to meet took a pride in avowing their unbelief,” she wrote, “but I know that you are not ashamed to acknowledge your faith in Christ and His Church. I shall feel secure that what you promise for my child will be fulfilled, so far as it is in your power to bring about its fulfilment. I know that if you stand beside the font and take those vows in His name you will not remember that ceremony as an empty form, a mere concession to usage and respectability. Those promises will appeal to you for my fatherless child in the days to come. They will make you his friend and protector.”