Sir Jasper Kingsland sunk into a seat, thrilling from head to foot,
turning sick and faint in the sudden revulsion from despair to hope.

"Saved?" he said, in a gasping whisper. "_Both_?"

"Both, my dear Sir Jasper!" the doctor responded, cordially. "Your
good lady is very much prostrated--exhausted--but that was to be looked
for, you know; and the baby--ah! the finest boy I have had the pleasure
of presenting to an admiring world within ten years. Come and see
them!"

"May I?" the baronet cried, starting to his feet.

"Certainly, my dear Sir Jasper--most certainly. There is nothing in
the world to hinder--only be a little cautious, you know. Our good
lady must be kept composed and quiet, and left to sleep; and you will
just take one peep and go. We won't need the Reverend Cyrus."

He led the way from the library, rubbing his hands as your brisk little
physicians do, up a grand stair-way where you might have driven a coach
and four, and into a lofty and most magnificently furnished bed-chamber.

"Quiet, now--quiet," the doctor whispered, warningly. "Excite her, and
I won't be answerable for the result."

Sir Jasper Kingsland replied with a rapid gesture, and walked forward
to the bed. His own face was perfectly colorless, and his lips were
twitching with intense suppressed feeling. He bent above the still
form.