In a picturesque and retired village Emilia's baby, a girl, was born, and baptized in the name of Constance, Madame Lambert's christian name. Sweet and profound was the happiness with which the young mother's heart was filled when she held her baby to her breast. A sacred joy was hers, in which she found a holy consolation for the troubles through which she had passed. Madame Lambert was delighted, and drew from the mother and child a newborn pleasure. She never tired of showing them kindness; had they been of her own blood she could scarcely have been more considerate and thoughtful. She called Constance "our child," and was as nervous over the little one's trials as Emilia herself. In such sympathetic companionship, and with such a sweet treasure as she now possessed, Emilia could only be happy. She never dwelt with sorrow upon the past. With rare wisdom she destroyed the bridge behind her, and buried the memories which had threatened to utterly wreck and ruin her life. Constance was a child of love, not of shame. Emilia's pure soul exonerated her from self-reproach, and shame could never be her portion now that there was no link, except the loving link of a baby's hands, between the past and the future. Wherever she turned she met looks of kindness; no longer was she avoided and repulsed. The world once more was sweet, and bright, and beautiful, and when she prayed to our Father in Heaven it was in the happy consciousness that He knew her to be a pure and innocent woman. "Baby, baby, baby!" she whispered to the child in her "You have restored me to life, to joy, to happiness. Oh, my baby, my baby! Can I ever be sufficiently grateful to you? Dear Lord in Heaven, give me strength and wisdom to guide her aright, to keep her from pitfalls, to see her grow in purity and innocence to a happy womanhood! Do not take her from me. Let her remain with me as a shield and protector. Through her I see goodness and light. Oh, my angel, my angel!"