With this idea in his head, Otterburn became anxious to return home, and Laxton, being somewhat tired of primeval simplicity, consented to leave the wide rolling prairies for the delights of Pall Mall. Laxton wanted to return in a leisurely fashion by making for San Francisco and going home again by New Zealand and Australia, but then he was heart-whole and had not the vision of a charming face constantly in his mind's eye. This fact being urged by Otterburn as an argument in favour of taking the shortest route possible to London, Laxton, being really a good-natured young fellow, consented, and leaving their delightfully savage life behind they went to New York. After a few days' stay in that city they went across to Liverpool by one of the big Cunarders, and duly arrived after a pleasant passage. Laxton went off to see his people in Yorkshire, but Otterburn did not venture to trust himself within the grim walls of Dunkeld Castle, well knowing the stormy reception he would meet with, so journeyed straight to the Metropolis, where he engaged a comfortable set of chambers in the neighbourhood of Piccadilly, and started on his matrimonial campaign with a dogged determination to succeed in winning Victoria Sheldon for his wife, or, in case of failure, to depart for an uninhabited island and live a Robinson Crusoe misogamistic existence till he died. Many events had happened in the Errington household since the young couple had arrived at the Hall, the most important being the birth of a little boy, which had greatly rejoiced Guy's heart, as he now had an heir to succeed to the estates. Aunt Jelly also signified her approval in her own grim way, and actually stood godmother to the child, whom she insisted on christening Henry, after her old love, Sheldon, although no one knew or guessed her reason for doing so. Eustace Gartney had been right in his estimate of Alizon's character, for the birth of the child transformed her from a cold statue into a loving, breathing woman, rendered perfect by her motherhood. No one who saw her, with her delicate face flushed with joy bending over the cradle of the child, would have thought it was the same woman who had been so chill and impassive in her appearance and demeanour. The cold, white snow-drop had changed into the warm, red rose, and the passionate idolatry she had for the child seemed to fill out and complete her life, hitherto so void and empty for the want of something to love.