“Bless me, I suppose I haven't—let's take a peep at him.”
Together they bent over the cradle. “Why, he's looking quite human. I think he must have grown!” his father whispered, apparently surprised. “Does he make much noise at night nowadays, Mary?”
“No, hardly any. He just whimpers at about two o'clock, and I get up and nurse him. Then he sleeps till after six.”
“If you don't mind, then,” said Stefan, “I think I will sleep with you to-night. I feel as if it would rest me.”
“Of course, dearest.” She felt herself blushing. Was she really going to be loved again? She smiled happily at him.
When they were in bed Stefan curled up childishly, and putting one arm about her, fell asleep almost instantly, his head upon her shoulder. Mary lay, too happy for sleep, listening to his quiet breathing, until her shoulder ached and throbbed under his head. She would not move for fear of waking him, and remained wide-eyed and motionless until her baby's voice called to her.
Then, with infinite care, she slipped away, her arm and shoulder numb, but her heart lighter than it had been for many weeks.
She had forgotten to put out her dressing gown, and would not open the closet door, because it creaked. Little Elliston was leisurely over his repast, and she was stiff with cold when at last she stole back into bed. Stefan lay upon his side. She crept close, and in her turn put an arm about him. He was here again, her man, and her child was close at hand, warm and comforted from her breast. Love was all about her, and to-night she was not mocked. Warm again from his touch, she, too, fell at last, with all the dreaming house, asleep.