I looked at her with a little astonishment, but took no notice of her momentary impatience--I had given her cause enough, one time and another; and now Amy came in with a tray, and something that Mrs. Templeton was sure I would like, and another maid came with her to light a fire for the comfort of Master Harry. When the fire began to blaze, Alice undressed him, while I partook--and I was almost ashamed to feel, with some appetite--of the housekeeper's good things. Then I had a low easy chair drawn to the chimney corner, and a footstool, and had my baby back again. I think he looked even prettier in his nightgown and close cap, for his evening refreshment. The dormant ambition to have him admired, sprung up very strongly within me; and I think but that poor little Harry was very hungry and sleepy, I would have summoned courage to send him down stairs, as Alice suggested, to bid his papa good-night. "What did they all say of him, Alice?" I asked. "What could they say, dear?" said the impartial and candid Alice, appealing to my honor; "Mrs. Templeton thought he was the sweetest little angel that ever was born; and as for the maids!--it's like bringing light into a house to bring a baby, Miss Hester. Blessings on his dear, sweet face! and he's the heir of Cottiswoode." "Did any one say who he was like?" I asked, timidly. This was a question I had never attempted to settle even in my own mind; though, like every other mother, I saw mind, and intelligence, and expression in the sweet little features, I never could make out any resemblance--I could not persuade myself that he was like his father. "Well, he's very like the Southcotes, dear," said Alice, pronouncing an unhesitating yet ambiguous judgment; "there's a deal about his little mouth and his eyes; and, Miss Hester, dear, what did his papa think of him?" "I think he was very glad, Alice," I said, with a sigh. Why were we so far from what we should be?--why, why could we not discuss the beauty of our child as other young fathers and mothers did? I only had seen the joy in Edgar's face--he had not said a word to me on this subject, though it was the only subject in which there could be no pain. After baby was laid to sleep in the cradle, I sat still by the fireside, musing by myself, while Alice went down stairs. I was left alone for a long time quite without interruption, but I did not make use of the interval as I might have done, to form my plans for our new life. I could not project anything; a fit of ease and idleness had come upon me--wandering, disconnected fancies rather than thoughts, were in my mind; the exhaustion of the day had worn me out, and I was resting, reposing almost, more completely than if I had been asleep.