Stefan mounted the stairs tremblingly, to pause in amazement at the door of Mary's room. A second transformation had, as if by magic, taken place. The lights were out. The dawn smiled at the windows, through which a gentle breeze ruffled the curtains. Gone were all evidences of the night's tense drama; tables and chairs were empty; the room looked calm and spacious. On the bed Mary lay quiet, her form hardly outlined under the smooth coverlet. Half fearfully he let his eyes travel to the pillow, dreading he knew not what change. Instantly, relief overwhelmed him. Her face was radiant, her cheeks pink--she seemed to glow with a sublimated happiness. Only in her eyes lay any traces of the night--they were still heavy from the anaesthetic, but they shone lovingly on him, as though deep lights were behind them. “Darling,” she whispered, “we've got a little boy. Did you worry? It wasn't anything--only the most thrilling adventure that's ever happened to me.” He looked at her almost with awe--then, stooping, pressed his face to the pillow beside hers. “Were they merciful to you, Beautiful?” he whispered back. Weakly, her hand found his head. “Yes, darling, they were wonderful. I was never quite unconscious, yet it wasn't a bit bad--only as if I were in the hands of some prodigious force. They showed me the baby, too--just for a minute. I want to see him again now--with you.” Stefan looked up. Dr. Hillyard was in the doorway of the little room. She nodded, and in a moment reappeared, carrying a small white bundle. “Here he is,” she said; “he weighs eight and a half pounds. You can both look at him for a moment, and then Mrs. Byrd must go to sleep.” She put the bundle gently down beside Mary, whose head turned toward it. Almost hidden in folds of flannel Stefan saw a tiny red face, its eyes closed, two microscopic fists doubled under its chin. It conveyed nothing to him except a sense of amazement. “He's asleep,” whispered Mary, “but I saw his eyes--they are blue. Isn't he pretty?” Her own eyes, soft with adoration, turned from her son to Stefan. Then they drooped, drowsily. “She's falling off,” said the doctor under her breath, recovering the baby. “They'll both sleep for several hours now. Lily is getting us some breakfast--wouldn't you like some, too, Mr. Byrd?” Stefan felt grateful for her normal, cheery manner, and for Mary's sudden drowsiness; they seemed to cover what he felt to be a failure in himself. He had been unable to find one word to say about the baby. At breakfast, served by the sleepy but beaming Lily, Stefan was dazed by the bearing of doctor and nurse. These two women, after a night spent in work of an intensity and scope beyond his powers to gage, appeared as fresh and normal as if they had just risen from sleep, while he, unshaved and rumpled, could barely control his racked nerves and heavy head, across which doctor and nurse discussed their case with animation.