"You shall see him in the morning--he will be asleep now. Of course, to me he is wonderful, but I daresay he is only an ordinary child." She had peeped at Denzil and had seen that his face fell a little as she said they should only see the baby the next day, and she had felt a wave of joy. She knew that she meant to take him up quietly presently--just he and she alone! After they had finished tea, Mrs. Ardayre suggested that she should go to her room. "I am tired, Amaryllis, my dear," she announced cheerily,--"and I shall rest for an hour before dinner." "Come then and I will show you both your rooms." They came up the broad staircase with her, Denzil a step at a time, slowly, and at the top she stopped and said to him: "Perhaps you will remember that is the door of the cedar parlour at the end of the passage--you will find me there when I have installed your mother comfortably. Your room is next to hers," and she pointed to two doors through the archway of the gallery. Then she went on with Mrs. Ardayre. Some contrary nervousness made her remain for quite a little while. Was Cousin Beatrice sure that she was comfortable? Had she everything she wanted? Her maid was already unpacking, and all was warm and fresh scented with lavender and bowls of violets on the dressing table. "My dear child, it is Paradise, and you are a perfect angel--I shall revel in it after the cold journey down." So at last there was no excuse to stay longer, and Amaryllis left the room; but in the passage it seemed as though her knees were trembling, and as she passed the top of the staircase she leaned for a second or two on the balustrade. The longed for moment had come! When she opened the door of the cedar parlour, with its soft lamps and great glowing logs, she saw Denzil was already there, seated on the sofa beside the fire. She ran to him before he could rise, the movement she knew was pain to him--and she sank down beside him and held out her hands. "Beloved darling!" he whispered in exaltation, and she slipped forward into his arms. Oh! the bliss of it all! After the months of separation, and the horrible trenches and the battles and the suffering, the days and nights of agonising pain! It seemed to Denzil that his being melted within him--Heaven itself had come. They could not speak coherently for some moments, everything was too filled with holy joy. "At last! at last!" he cried presently. "Now we shall part no more!" Then he had to be assured that she loved him still. "It is I who must take care of you now, Denzil, and I shall love to do that," she cooed. "I have not thought much of the hurt," he answered her, "for all these months I have just been living for this day, and now it has come, darling one, and I can hardly believe that it is true, it is so absolutely divine--" They could not talk of anything but themselves and love for an hour, they told each other of their longings and anxieties--and at last they spoke of John.