"I will have the baby here to-night," she said to the girl. "Tell nurse to put a shawl round him and bring him down. It is the hour for my baby's supper," she smiled, turning to Lady Isabel. "I may as well have him here for once, as Mr. Carlyle is out. Sometimes I am out myself, and then he has to be fed."

"You do not stay indoors for the baby, then?"

"Certainly not. If I and Mr. Carlyle have to be out in the evening, baby gives way. I should never give up my husband for my baby; never, never, dearly as I love him."

The nurse came in--Wilson. She unfolded a shawl, and placed the baby on Mrs. Carlyle's lap. A proud, fine, fair young baby, who reared his head and opened wide his great blue eyes, and beat his arms at the lights of the chandelier, as no baby of nearly six months ever did yet. So thought Barbara. He was in his clean white nightgown and nightcap, with their pretty crimped frills and border; altogether a pleasant sight to look upon. She had once sat in that very chair, with a baby as fair upon her own knee; but all that was past and gone. She leaned her hot head upon her hand, and a rebellious sigh of envy went forth from her aching heart.

Wilson, the curious, was devouring her with her eyes. Wilson was thinking she never saw such a mortal fright as the new governess. Them blue spectacles capped everything, she decided; and what on earth made her tie up her throat in that fashion? As well wear a man's color and stock at once! If her teaching was no better than her looks, Miss Lucy might as well go to the parish charity school!

"Shall I wait, ma'am?" demurely asked Wilson, her investigation being concluded.

"No," said Mrs. Carlyle. "I will ring."

Baby was exceedingly busy taking his supper. And of course, according to all baby precedent, he ought to have gone off into a sound sleep over it. But the supper concluded, and the gentleman seemed to have no more sleep in his eyes than he had before he began. He sat up, crowed at the lights, stretched out his hands for them, and set his mother at defiance, absolutely refusing to be hushed up.

"Do you wish to keep awake all night, you rebel?" cried Barbara, fondly looking on him.

A loud crow, by way of answer. Perhaps it was intended to intimate he did. She clasped him to her with a sudden gesture of rapture, a sound of love, and devoured his pretty face with kisses. Then she took him in her arms, putting him to sit upright, and approached Madame Vine.

"Did you ever see a more lovely child?"

"A fine baby, indeed," she constrained herself to answer; and she could have fancied it her own little Archibald over again when he was a baby.

"But he is not much like you."

"He is the very image of my darling husband. When you see Mr. Carlyle--"

Barbara stopped, and bent her ear, as listening.

"Mr. Carlyle is probably a handsome man!" said poor Lady Isabel, believing that the pause was made to give her an opportunity of putting in an observation.

"He is handsome: but that is the least good about him. He is the most n.o.ble man! Revered, respected by everyone; I may say loved! The only one who could not appreciate him was his wife; and we must a.s.sume that she did not, by the ending that came. However she could leave him--how she could even look at another, after calling Mr. Carlyle husband--will always be a marvel to those who know him."

A bitter groan--and it nearly escaped her lips.

"That certainly is the pony carriage," cried Barbara, bending her ear again. "If so, how very early Mr. Carlyle is home! Yes, I am sure it is the sound of the wheels."

How Lady Isabel sat she scarcely knew; how she concealed her trepidation she never would know. A pause: an entrance to the hall; Barbara, baby in arms, advanced to the drawing-room door, and a tall form entered. Once more Lady Isabel was in the presence of her sometime husband.

He did not perceive that any one was present, and he bent his head and fondly kissed his wife. Isabel's jealous eyes were turned upon them. She saw Barbara's pa.s.sionate, lingering kiss in return, she heard her fervent, whispered greeting, "My darling!" and she watched him turn to press the same fond kisses on the rosy open lips of his child. Isabel flung her hand over her face. Had she bargained for this? It was part of the cross she had undertaken to carry, and she must bear it.

Mr. Carlyle came forward and saw her. He looked somewhat surprised.

"Madame Vine," said Barbara; and he held out his hand and welcomed her in the same cordial, pleasant manner that his wife had done. She put her shaking hand into his; there was no help for it. Little thought Mr.

Carlyle that that hand had been tenderly clasped in his a thousand times--that it was the one pledged to him at the altar of Castle Marling.

She sat down on her chair again, unable to stand, feeling as though every drop of blood within her had left her body. It had certainly left her face. Mr. Carlyle made a few civil inquiries as to her journey, but she did not dare to raise her eyes to his, as she breathed forth the answers.

"You are at home soon, Archibald," said Barbara, addressing him. "I did not expect you so early. I did not think you could get away. Do you know what I was wishing to-day?" she continued. "Papa is going to London with Squire Pinner to see those new agricultural implements--or whatever it is. They are sure to be away as much as three days. I was thinking if we could but persuade mamma to come to us for the time papa is to be away, it would be a delightful little change for her--a break in her monotonous life."

"I wish you could," warmly spoke Mr. Carlyle. "Her life, since you left, is a monotonous one; though, in her gentle patience, she will not say so. It is a happy thought, Barbara, and I only hope it may be carried out. Mrs. Carlyle's mother is an invalid, and lonely, for she has no child at home with her now," he added, in a spirit of politeness, addressing himself to Madame Vine.

She simply bowed her head; trust herself to speak she did not. Mr.

Carlyle scanned her face attentively, as she sat, her spectacles bent downward. She did not appear inclined to be sociable, and he turned to the baby, who was wider awake than ever.

"Young sir, I should like to know what brings you up, and here, at this hour."

"You may well ask," said Barbara. "I just had him brought down, as you were not here, thinking he would be asleep directly. And only look at him!--no more sleep in his eyes than there is in mine."

She would have hushed him to her as she spoke, but the young gentleman stoutly repudiated it. He set up a half cry, and struggled his arms, and head free again, crowing the next moment most impudently. Mr. Carlyle took him.

"It is no use, Barbara; he is beyond your coaxing this evening." And he tossed the child in his strong arms, held him up to the chandelier, made him bob at the baby in the pier-gla.s.s, until the rebel was in an ecstacy of delight. Finally he smothered his face with kisses, as Barbara had done. Barbara rang the bell.

Oh! Can you imagine what it was for Lady Isabel? So had he tossed, so had he kissed her children, she standing by, the fond, proud, happy mother, as Barbara was standing now. Mr. Carlyle came up to her.

"Are you fond of these little troubles, Madame Vine? This one is a fine fellow, they say."

"Very fine. What is his name?" she replied, by way of saying something.

"Arthur."

"Arthur Archibald," put in Barbara to Madame Vine. "I was vexed that his name could not be entirely Archibald, but that was already monopolized.

Is that you, Wilson? I don't know what you'll do with him, but he looks as if he would not be asleep by twelve o'clock."

Wilson, with a fresh satisfying of her curiosity, by taking another prolonged stare from the corner of her eyes at Madame Vine, received the baby from Mr. Carlyle, and departed with him.

Madame Vine rose. "Would they excuse her?" she asked, in a low tone; "she was tired and would be glad to retire to rest."

"Of course. And anything she might wish in the way of refreshment, would she ring for?" Barbara shook hands with her, in her friendly way; and Mr. Carlyle crossed the room to open the door for her, and bowed her out with a courtly smile.

She went up to her chamber at once. To rest? Well, what think you? She strove to say to her lacerated and remorseful heart that the cross--far heavier though it was proving than anything she had imagined or pictured--was only what she had brought upon herself, and must bear.

Very true; but none of us would like such a cross to be upon our shoulders.

"Is she not droll looking?" cried Barbara, when she was alone with Mr.

Carlyle. "I can't think why she wears those blue spectacles; it cannot be for her sight, and they are very disfiguring."

"She puts me in mind of--of----" began Mr. Carlyle, in a dreamy tone.

"Of whom?"

"Her face, I mean," he said, still dreaming.

"So little can be seen of it," resumed Mrs. Carlyle. "Of whom does she put you in mind?"

"I don't know. n.o.body in particular," returned he, rousing himself. "Let us have tea in, Barbara."