I had forgotten all about the fancy ball, and my start when I saw Mrs. Morton standing in the doorway almost woke Reggie. I really thought for a moment that I was dreaming. I learnt afterwards that she had taken the character of Berengaria, wife of the lion-hearted Richard, but for the moment I was too confused to identify her. She was dressed in dark blue velvet, and her gown and mantle were trimmed with ermine; she wore a glittering belt that looked as though it were studded with brilliants, and her brown hair hung in loose braids and plaits under a gold coronet. As she swept noiselessly towards us, I could see the tears were running down her cheeks, and her bosom was heaving under her ermine. “Oh, Merle!” she whispered, in a voice of agony, as she knelt down beside us, “to think my boy was in danger, and his mother was decked out in this fool’s garb; it makes me sick only to remember it; oh, my baby, my baby!” and she leant her head against my arm and sobbed, not loudly, but with the utmost bitterness. “Dear Mrs. Morton,” I returned, gently, “it was not your fault; no one could have foreseen this. Reggie had a little cold, but I thought it was nothing. Oh, what are you doing!” for she had actually kissed me, not once, but twice. “Let me do it, Merle,” returned my sweet mistress; “I am so grateful to you, and so will my husband be when he knows all. Dr. Myrtle says he never saw a nurse who understood her duties so well; everything had been done for the child before he came.” “Oh, Aunt Agatha, if only you and Uncle Keith had heard that!” We had talked in whispers, but nothing seemed to disturb Reggie. A moment after Mr. Morton came hurriedly into the nursery; he was very pale and discomposed, and a sort of shock seemed to pass over him as he saw his wife. “Violet,” he whispered, as she clung to him in a passion of weeping, “this has unnerved you, but, indeed, Dr. Myrtle says our boy will do well. My darling, will you not try to comfort yourself?” “I was at Lady S.’s ball when Muriel, our precious baby—oh, you remember, Alick”—for she seemed unable to go on. Poor woman, no wonder her tears flowed at such a memory. Mrs. Garnett told me reluctantly, when I questioned her the next day, that baby Muriel had been taken with a fit when Mrs. Morton and her husband were at a ball, and the mother had only arrived in time to see the infant breathe its last.