and the physician told her that, ere morning, there would be hope or despair.  Those who have thus watched can alone understand the agony of that midnight vigil; how every breath was counted, and every flush marked with wild anxiety.  And Catherine sat there, forgetting that food or rest was necessary to her, conscious only of the suffering of her child, and picturing darkly to herself the loneliness of the future, should it be taken from her.  How could she survive the interval that would elapse before her husband’s return? and how dreary would be the meeting which she had hitherto anticipated with so much pleasure!

She was not to be so sorely tried.  The hard feverish pulse gave place to a gentler beating; the fever flush passed away; and the regular heaving of a quiet sleep gave token at length that all danger to the child was over.

Then, for the first time, Catherine was persuaded to seek rest for herself, and all her anxiety was forgotten in a deep and trance-like slumber.

When she awoke there were letters and packages lying beside her bed, directed by her husband; and after she had once more assured herself that it was no dream the child was really safe, she opened them eagerly.  The letter announced that the business was happily adjusted, and that his return might be looked for by the next steamer.  Meantime, he said, he had sent some things to amuse her, and more particularly the choice gift for the anniversary of their marriage.  It was the morning of that very day!  She had not thought of it before.  She stooped to place a birthday kiss upon the fair but wasted little face beside her, and then tore open the envelops.  There were many beautiful things, “such as ladies love to look upon,” and at the last she came to a small package marked, “For our wedding day.”  It contained a little jewel case; but there was nothing on the snowy satin cushion but a pair of daintily wrought clasps for the robe of the little child, marked, “with a father’s love;” and then, as she was replacing them, a sealed envelop caught her eye.  There was an inclosure directed to a name she was not familiar with, and a few lines penciled for herself:—­

“DEAR KATE:  I have searched all over Paris, and could not find anything that I thought would please you better than the inclosed, which is my resignation of club membership.  Will you please send it to the president, and accept the true and earnest love of YOUR ABSENT HUSBAND.”

Then he had not been unmindful of her silent regret; he still loved his home, and the dangerous hour of his temptation was passed!  Had she not great reason for the gush of love and thankfulness that filled her heart and renewed her strength that happy morning—­her child saved, and her husband, as it were, restored to her?  Ere he came, the little one was fast regaining her bright playfulness, and became a stronger tie between Willis Grant and his happy home.  I do not know that you and I, dear reader, would have learned the secret of his renewed devotion to his wife, had he not told Nelly Lyons himself that “Kate’s way was the best, and she had better try it with Morgan, if ever he showed an undue fondness for the club after their marriage.”  Of course, the volatile girl could not help telling the story, and when two know a thing, as we are all aware, it is a secret no longer.