He is not aware of her presence until he is close upon her, and then he only sees a woman's form lying within the porch. Animated by an impulse of humanity, he hastens to her; he bends over her; his hand touches her cheek as he puts aside a curl of brown hair which the light breeze has blown across her face. "Good God!" he cries. "It is Nelly!" Is it pity, or fear, or annoyance, that is expressed in him? No man, seeking to know, could answer the question at this moment, for a cloud Obscures the moon, and throws darkness on his face. He hears voices in the near distance. The speakers are almost upon him. He starts from his stooping posture with a look of alarm, and retreats to a safe shelter, where he can see and not be seen. The voices proceed from two women and two men. One of the men is the young gardener; the other is a doctor, whom John has brought to the assistance of the girl he loves. The doctor kneels by the side of the insensible girl, and raises her in his arms. "She lives," he says, almost immediately. "Thank God!" exclaims John. Stronger evidence of life is given by Nelly herself. She moans and writhes in the doctor's arms. The young gardener has two warm rugs with him. The doctor looks at him inquiringly. "You are her husband?" "No." The doctor frowns. "You had best retire, then. Place those wraps here. Stay--you must do something. Go to my house as quickly as you can, and bring---- No, there might be some difficulty. I will write what I want." With Nelly's head still lying on his knee, he takes from his pocket a book, writes instructions upon a leaf, tears it out and gives it to the gardener. "Do not delay," he says. "You and my man must bring the couch and the blankets at once. There's not a moment to lose." John darts away, and the doctor beckons the women to him, and whispers gravely to them. Mr. Temple, in his retreat, clasps his hands, and listens. For what? He cannot hear a word that passes between the women and the doctor, and their forms shut Nelly from his sight. But presently a sound reaches his ears that makes him tremble. It is a baby's cry. Another soul is added to the world's many. In the stillness of the beautiful night, while the snow is falling upon the ancient church and on the tombs of the dead who worshipped there, a child is born, and the mother's sharpest physical agony is over. THE END OF THE PROLOGUE. Part the First. THE CHILD. CHAPTER I. As in a theatre, after the overture is played, the first thing shown to the audience is the scene in which the action of the drama commences, so let our first words be devoted to the locality in which the story opens.