Courtland drew near, half shyly, and looked in startled wonder.  The baby was strikingly like Gila, with all her grace, delicate features, wide innocent eyes.  The sweep of the long lashes on the little white cheeks, that were all too white for baby flesh, seemed old and weird in the tiny face.  Yet when the baby looked up and recognized its father it crowed and smiled, and the smile was wide and frank and lovable, like Tennelly’s.  There was nothing artificial about it.  Courtland drew a long sigh of relief.  For the moment he had been looking at the baby as if it were Gila grown small again; now he suddenly realized it was a new little soul with a life and a spirit of its own.

“She will be a blessing to you, Nelly,” he said, looking up hopefully.

“I don’t see it that way!” said the hopeless father, shaking his head.

“Would you rather have her—­taken away—­as her mother suggested?” he hazarded, suddenly.

Tennelly gave him one quick, startled look.  “God!  No!” he said, and staggered back into a chair.  “Do you think she looks so sick as that?  I know she’s not well.  I know she’s lost flesh!  But she’s been neglected.  Gila never cared for her and wouldn’t be bothered looking after things.  She was angry because the baby came at all.  She resented motherhood because it put a limitation on her pleasures.  My poor little girl!”

Tennelly dropped upon his knees beside the baby and buried his face in its soft little neck.

The baby swept its dark lashes down with the old Gila trick, and looked with a puzzled frown at the dark head so close to her face.  Then she put up her little hand and moved it over her father’s hair with an awkward attempt at comfort.  The great big being with his head in her neck was in trouble, and she was vaguely sympathetic.

A wave of pity swept over Courtland.  He dropped upon his knees beside his friend and spoke aloud: 

“O Lord God, come near and let my friend feel Thy Presence now in his terrible distress.  Somehow speak peace to his soul and help him to know Thee, for Thou art the only One that can help him.  Help him to tell Thee all his heart’s bitterness now, alone with Thee and his little child, and find relief.”

Softly Courtland arose and slipped from the room, leaving them alone with the Presence.

* * * * *

Gila had been gone two months when the day was finally set for Bonnie’s wedding.

There had been consultations long and many over what to do about telling Tennelly, for even Bonnie saw that the event could not but be painful to him, coming as it did on the heels of his own deep trouble.  And Tennelly had long been Courtland’s best friend; at least until Pat grew so close as to share that privilege with him.  It was finally decided that Courtland should tell Tennelly about the approaching wedding at his first opportunity.

Bonnie had long ago heard all about Gila, been through the bitter throes of jealousy, and come out clear and trusting, with the whole thing sanely and happily relegated to that place where all such troubles go from the hearts of those who truly love each other and know there never could be any one else in the universe who could take the place of the beloved.