"You did not expect me," said Captain Ernscliffe, as they shook hands. "I received your letter at midnight, sir, and came this morning as early as propriety would allow. I want to see my wife, Mr. Lyle," he added, in a trembling voice. "Will you take her my card and see if she will admit me to her presence?" Mr. Lyle looked at him curiously a moment. He saw that he was struggling with some unexplained agitation, and that he had not come with any hostile intent. He pointed toward a side door that stood slightly ajar. "She is in there," he said; "there is no need of formalities. Go in and see her." With a faltering step Captain Ernscliffe advanced and passed through the partly open door. He found himself in a beautiful little dressing-room, with hangings of pale-blue silk, exquisitely furnished and pervaded with the delicate perfume of white hyacinth. Before the bright fire burning in the polished grate a lady was sitting in a low rocker of cushioned blue satin. He advanced toward her, then started back. He thought he had made a mistake. For the beautiful woman sitting there in her elegant morning-robe of quilted blue satin was looking down and smiling at something that lay on her arm, nestled close and warm against her breast. It was the pink face of a very tiny baby, wrapped in costly robes of embroidered flannel, and lace and cambric. Captain Ernscliffe was going out quite precipitately when a low, startled voice cried out: "Lawrence!" He turned back and looked more closely. Yes, it _was_ Queenie--but then--_that_ baby--where on earth--and at that stage of his cogitations something flashed across his mind. This, then, was the cause of that long, mysterious illness. What a fool he had been not to suspect it before. He rushed to her side, and kneeling down upon the carpet, put his arms around the beautiful mother and child. "My darling," he murmured, in a voice so broken by emotion that he could scarcely speak at all. "My precious Queenie, my own sweet wife, shall we mutually forgive and forget all that is past?" One stifled sob of joy, and then the woman dropped her face upon his shoulder in silence. One moment of rapturous stillness while she rested in the close clasp of his strong arm and then he whispered, with his lips against her warm cheek: "Darling, you will forget my cruelty and come back to me--you and the little one?" Then she lifted her head and looked at him with a happy, little laugh and a very bright blush. "Lawrence, kiss our little boy," she said, putting the little bundle in his arms. "Is he not a pretty babe? I call him Robbie, for my uncle, who has been so good and kind in all my trouble." "While I have been so cruel and unkind," he said, remorsefully. "But that is all past now," she said, hopefully. "Oh, Lawrence, I thought you would never return to me again! What caused you to forgive me?"