From that day Madame Lambert and Emilia travelled together, not as mistress and companion, but as friends, until the time arrived when Madame Lambert saw that it was imperative that Emilia should remain for a few weeks quiet and free from the fatigues of a wandering life. Thus faith and goodness were rewarded.
In a picturesque and retired village Emilia's baby, a girl, was born, and baptized in the name of Constance, Madame Lambert's christian name. Sweet and profound was the happiness with which the young mother's heart was filled when she held her baby to her breast. A sacred joy was hers, in which she found a holy consolation for the troubles through which she had passed. Madame Lambert was delighted, and drew from the mother and child a newborn pleasure. She never tired of showing them kindness; had they been of her own blood she could scarcely have been more considerate and thoughtful. She called Constance "our child," and was as nervous over the little one's trials as Emilia herself. In such sympathetic companionship, and with such a sweet treasure as she now possessed, Emilia could only be happy. She never dwelt with sorrow upon the past. With rare wisdom she destroyed the bridge behind her, and buried the memories which had threatened to utterly wreck and ruin her life. Constance was a child of love, not of shame. Emilia's pure soul exonerated her from self-reproach, and shame could never be her portion now that there was no link, except the loving link of a baby's hands, between the past and the future. Wherever she turned she met looks of kindness; no longer was she avoided and repulsed. The world once more was sweet, and bright, and beautiful, and when she prayed to our Father in Heaven it was in the happy consciousness that He knew her to be a pure and innocent woman.
"Baby, baby, baby!" she whispered to the child in her "You have restored me to life, to joy, to happiness. Oh, my baby, my baby! Can I ever be sufficiently grateful to you? Dear Lord in Heaven, give me strength and wisdom to guide her aright, to keep her from pitfalls, to see her grow in purity and innocence to a happy womanhood! Do not take her from me. Let her remain with me as a shield and protector. Through her I see goodness and light. Oh, my angel, my angel!"
She wiped her happy tears away, and sang and crooned and worshipped as only a good mother can. Ah, the little fingers, the childish prattle, the pattering of little feet, what would the world be without them? Religion would be dead, and faith a mockery not to be indulged in without a sneering devil creeping close to lay its icy hands upon hearts in which sweet thoughts are harbored. Flowers of the human garden, let us be humbly grateful for the light they shed upon the dark spaces which at one time or other every mortal has to tread. In the midst of the gloom which surrounds us shines a star illumining a fair face and a head with flowing curls. In the midst of the stillness by which we are encompassed steals a musical voice, with its divine melody of childish laughter. What is that light in the distance? A bright cloud shining on a little bed, by the side of which kneels a small form clad in white. The pretty hands are clasped, and from the lovely lips issue the words, "Our Father which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name!"
It was impossible that Emilia could forget Gerald, but her thoughts of him were ever gentle and kind and forgiving. "You see our child, dear Gerald"--thus ran her thoughts--"watch over her. I forgive you for the wrong you committed. Do not trouble and sorrow over it. It is done and gone, and only sweetness remains. You have given me a flower which makes my heart a garden of love. God bless you, dear Gerald!" So from the bitterest woe in which a human being could be plunged uprose a heavenly light.
"We must not spoil our child," said Madame Lambert.
"We cannot spoil her," said Emilia. "Is she not beautiful?"
"The loveliest baby that ever drew breath, my dear. You happy woman! If I were as young as you are I should be jealous of you."
The good lady was amazed at the new beauty which now dwelt in Emilia's face. The young mother was transfigured. A holy radiance shed its light upon her. Madame Lambert found herself presently worshipping the mother almost as much as she worshipped the child.
"If you were my own daughter, my dear," she said, "I could not love you more."