“What a fool I’ve been about the shadows,” she said.  “This is the reality!  This counts, as it seems to me that nothing else I ever did in my life counts.”

She felt nearer than ever to Warren now, and more dependent upon him.  But a new dignity came into her relationship with him:  husband and wife, father and mother, they wore the great titles of the world, now!

He found her more beautiful than ever, and as the baby was the centre of her universe, and all her hopes and fears and thoughts for the child, the old bridal attitude toward him vanished forever, and she was the more fascinating for that.  His love for her rose like a great flame, and the passionate devotion for which she had been wistfully waiting for months enveloped her now, when, shaken in body and soul, she wished only to devote herself to the miracle that was her child.

When he was but six weeks old James Warren Gregory Third terrified the little circle of his family and friends with a severe touch of summer sickness.  The weather, in late April, was untimely—­hot and humid—­and the baby seemed to suffer from it, even in his airy nursery.  There were two hideous days in which he would take no food, and when Rachael heard nothing but the little wailing voice through the long hours.  All night she sat beside him, hearing Warren’s affectionate protests as little as she heard the dignified remonstrance of the nurse.  When day came she was haggard and exhausted, but still she would not leave her baby.  She knelt at the crib, impressing the tiny countenance upon mind and heart—­ her first-born baby, upon whose little features the wisdom of another world still lingered like a light!

Only a few weeks old, and thousands of them older than he died every year!  Fear in another form had come to Rachael now—­life seemed all fear.

“Oh, Warren, is he very ill?”

“Pretty sick, dear little chap!”

“But, Warren, you don’t think—­”

“My darling, I don’t know!”

She turned desperately to George Valentine when that good friend came in his professional capacity at five o’clock.

“George, there’s been a change—­I’m sure of it.  Look at him!”

“You ought to take better care of your wife, Greg,” was Doctor Valentine’s quiet almost smiling answer to this.  “You’ll have her sick next!”

“How is he?” Rachael whispered, as the newcomer bent over the baby.  There was a silence.

“Well, my dear,” said Doctor Valentine, as he straightened himself, “I believe this little chap has decided to remain with us a little while.  Very—­much—­better!”

Rachael tried to smile, but burst out crying instead, and clung to her husband’s shoulder.

“Let him have his sleep out, Miss Snow,” said the doctor, “and then sponge him off and try him with food!”

“Oh—­yes—­yes—­yes!” the baby’s mother said eagerly, drying her eyes.  “And you’ll be back later, George?”