"_Don't_ send--on _no account_ yet. Don't bring him here--he's better away. I'll tell you when to send." The doctor opened the door. "Still quiet?" "Yes, sir," whispered Mrs. Graver. Again he closed the door. "Nice creature she seems. A relation of yours?" asked the Doctor. "My cousin." "When was she married?" "About a year ago." "Never any tendency to consumption?" "Never." "Nothing to make her low or weak? Is she hysterical?" "No, hardly that, but nervous and excitable." "I know; very good. I think she'll do very nicely. If anything goes the least wrong I'll let you know. Now stay quiet in there." And he shut the door, and she heard his step move softly over the next room floor, so great was the silence; and she kneeled down and prayed as helpless people pray in awful peril; and more time passed, and more, slowly, very slowly. Oh, would the dawn ever come, and the daylight again? Voices and moans she heard from the room. Again she prayed on her knees to the throne of mercy, in the agony of her suspense, and now over the strange roofs spread the first faint gray of the coming dawn; and there came a silence in the room, and on a sudden was heard a new tiny voice crying. "The little child!" cried old Anne Sheckleton, springing to her feet, with clasped hands, in the anguish of delight, and such a gush of tears--as she looked up, thanking God with her smiles--as comes only in such moments. Margaret's clear voice faintly said something; Anne could not hear what. "A boy," answered the cheery voice of Doctor Grimshaw. "Oh! he'll be so glad!" answered the faint clear voice in a kind of rapture. "Of course he will," replied the same cheery voice. And another question came, too low for old Anne Sheckleton's ears. "A _beautiful_ boy! as fine a fellow as you could desire to look at. Bring him here, nurse." "Oh! the darling!" said the same faint voice. "I'm so _happy_." "Thank God! thank God! thank God!" sobbed delighted Anne Sheckleton, her cheeks still streaming in showers of tears as she stood waiting at the door for the moment of admission, and hearing the sweet happy tones of Margaret's voice sounding in her ears like the voice of one who had just now died, heard faintly through the door of heaven. For thus it has been, and thus to the end, it will be--the "sorrow" of the curse is remembered no more, "for joy that a man is born into the world." CHAPTER III. CLEVE COMES. TOM SEDLEY was dozing in his chair, by the fire, when he was roused by Mrs. Graver's voice. "You'll take this note at once, please, to your master; there's a cab at the door, and the lady says you mustn't make no delay." It took some seconds to enable Tom to account for the scene, the actor and his own place of repose, his costume, and the tenor of the strange woman's language. In a little while, however, he recovered the context, and the odd passage in his life became intelligible.