"You will see that he is just you, Denzil,—as we knew that he would be, and now I will go and fetch him for you and bring him here, because the stairs up to the nursery are so steep they might hurt you to climb."
She left him swiftly, and was not long gone, and Denzil sat there by the fire trembling with an emotion which he could not have described in words.
The door opened again and Amaryllis returned with the tiny sleeping form, in its long white nightgown and wrapped in a great fleecy shawl.
She crept up to him very softly. The little one was sound asleep. She made a sign to Denzil not to rise, and she bent down and placed the bundle tenderly in his arms.
Then they gazed at the little face together with worshipping eyes.
It was just a round pink and white cherub like thousands of others in the world; the very long eyelashes, sweeping the sleep-flushed cheeks, and minute rings of bronze-gold hair curling over the edge of the close cambric cap; but it seemed to those two looking at it to be unique, and more beautiful than the dawn.
"Isn't he perfect, Denzil!" whispered Amaryllis, in ecstasy.
"Marvellous!" and Denzil's voice was awed.
Then the wonder and the divinity of love and its spirit of creation came over them both and a mist of deep feeling grew in both their eyes.
* * * * *