A sudden fear smote him. “Before I had thought of bringing her to you,” he stammered, “at first I had only the thought of giving her to the Church. I had had her christened by”—the words refused to leave his lips—“the name—Can you not guess, Senora, what name she bears?”      

       The Senora knew. “My own?” she said.     

       Angus bowed his head. “The only woman's name that my lips ever spoke with love,” he said, reassured, “was the name my daughter should bear.”      

       “It is well,” replied the Senora. Then a great silence fell between them. Each studied the other's face, tenderly, bewilderedly. Then by a simultaneous impulse they drew nearer. Angus stretched out both his arms with a gesture of infinite love and despair, bent down and kissed the hands which lovingly held his sleeping child.     

       “God bless you, Ramona! Farewell! You will never see me more,” he cried, and was gone.     

       In a moment more he reappeared on the threshold of the door, but only to say in a low tone, “There is no need to be alarmed if the child does not wake for some hours yet. She has had a safe sleeping-potion given her. It will not harm her.”      

       One more long lingering look into each other's faces, and the two lovers, so strangely parted, still more strangely met, had parted again, forever. The quarter of a century which had lain between them had been bridged in both their hearts as if it were but a day. In the heart of the man it was the old passionate adoring love reawakening; a resurrection of the buried dead, to full life, with lineaments unchanged. In the woman it was not that; there was no buried love to come to such resurrection in her heart,       for she had never loved Angus Phail. But, long unloved, ill-treated, heartbroken, she woke at that moment to the realization of what manner of love it had been which she had thrown away in her youth; her whole being yearned for it now, and Angus was avenged.     

       When Francis Ortegna, late that night, reeled, half-tipsy, into his wife's room, he was suddenly sobered by the sight which met his eyes,—his wife kneeling by the side of the cradle, in which lay, smiling in its sleep, a beautiful infant.     

       “What in the devil's name,” he began; then 

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