Hugh stooped over the couch and kissed her, and then sat down with rather a dissatisfied expression on his face; he thought they had made a fuss to frighten him, and bring him home--she did not look so very ill after all. "I could not come to meet you, love," she said, with a little clasp of his hand, and she kissed it in her old way and laid it against her face. "My dear Fay," he remonstrated, and bit his lip. "Nurse, you can trust your patient in my care. I will ring for you in a little while." Then, as the door closed behind her, he said in a vexed tone, "Fay, why will you be so childish? you know that I object to demonstration before the servants, and have told you so, and yet you never seem to remember; do try to be a little more dignified, my dear, and wait until we are alone." And this to her who had come back to him through "The Valley of the Shadow of Death," bringing his boy with her! Fay became very white, and drew her hand away. "You do not seem to remember how very ill I have been," she faltered. And their the baby's blind wandering touches over her breast soothed her. Hugh grew a little remorseful. "My dear, I assure you I have not forgotten it: I was very grieved to hear it, and to know that you should have been alone in your trouble; but was it my fault, Fay? Did you keep your promise to me not to fret yourself ill when I Was gone?" "I kept my promise," she replied, quietly; "the fretting and the mischief were done before. We will not talk about my illness; it is too bad even to think of it. Have you nothing else to say to me, Hugh? do you not wish to see our boy?" Hugh started, conscience-stricken--he had forgotten his child altogether; and then he laughed off his confusion. "Our boy! what an important Wee Wifie. Yes, show him to me by all means. Do you mean you have got him under that shawl?" "Yes; is he not good?" returned Fay, proudly; she had forgotten Hugh's coldness now, as she drew back the flimsy covering and showed him the tiny fair face within her arms. "There, is he not a beauty? Nurse says she has never seen a finer baby boy for his size. He is small now, but he will grow; he has such long feet and hands that, she assures me, he will be a tall man. Mrs. Heron says he is a thorough Redmond. Look at his hair like floss silk, only finer; and he has your forehead, dear, and your eyes. Oh, he will be just like his father, the darling!" "Will he?" returned Hugh, dubiously, and he touched him rather awkwardly--he had never noticed a baby closely before, and he was not much impressed with his son's appearance; there was such a redness, he thought, and no features to be called features, and he had such a ridiculous button of a mouth. "Do you really call him a fine baby, Fay?" "Fine! I should think so; the smallness does not matter a bit. You will be a big man some time, my beauty, for you are the very image of your father."