She pulled the key of the shop from her pocket.  Her hand trembled so that I took it from her, and opened the door.  A candle with a long snuff was flickering on the counter; and stretched out on the counter, with his head about a foot from the candle, lay little Gerard, fast asleep.

“Ah, little darling!” I said in my heart, “this is not much like painting the sky yet.  But who knows?” And as I uttered the commonplace question in my mind, in my mind it was suddenly changed into the half of a great dim prophecy by the answer which arose to it there, for the answer was “God.”

I lifted the little fellow in my arms.  He had fallen asleep weeping, and his face was dirty, and streaked with the channels of his tears.  Catherine had snuffed the candle, and now stood with it in her hand, waiting for me to go.  But, without heeding her, I bore my child to the door that led to their dwelling.  I had never been up those stairs before, and therefore knew nothing of the way.  But without offering any opposition, his mother followed, and lighted me.  What a sad face of suffering and strife it was upon which that dim light fell!  She set the candle down upon the table of a small room at the top of the stairs, which might have been comfortable enough but that it was neglected and disordered; and now I saw that she did not even have her child to sleep with her, for his crib stood in a corner of this their sitting-room.

I sat down on a haircloth couch, and proceeded to undress little Gerard, trying as much as I could not to wake him.  In this I was almost successful.  Catherine stood staring at me without saying a word.  She looked dazed, perhaps from the effects of her fall.  But she brought me his nightgown notwithstanding.  Just as I had finished putting it on, and was rising to lay him in his crib, he opened his eyes, and looked at me; then gave a hurried look round, as if for his mother; then threw his arms about my neck and kissed me.  I laid him down and the same moment he was fast asleep.  In the morning it would not be even a dream to him.

“Now,” I thought, “you are safe for the night, poor fatherless child.  Even your mother’s hardness will not make you sad now.  Perhaps the heavenly Father will send you loving dreams.”

I turned to Catherine, and bade her good-night.  She just put her hand in mine; but, instead of returning my leave-taking, said: 

“Do not fancy you will get the better of me, Mr Walton, by being kind to that boy.  I will have my revenge, and I know how.  I am only waiting my time.  When he is just going to drink, I will dash it from his hand.  I will.  At the altar I will.”

Her eyes were flashing almost with madness, and she made fierce gestures with her arm.  I saw that argument was useless.

“You loved him once, Catherine,” I said.  “Love him again.  Love him better.  Forgive him.  Revenge is far worse than anything you have done yet.”