"Please don't!" she said; and then held her breath to listen. "I think
I hear David. Excuse me a minute." She fled into the house and up-
stairs to David's room. "Did you want me, precious?" she said panting,

David opened dreaming eyes and looked at her. He had called out in his
sleep, but was quiet again, and did not need her eager arms, her lips
on his hair, her voice murmuring in his ear. But she could not stop
cuddling the small warm body; she forgot Sam and his play, and even
her own dull ache of discontent,--an ache that was bringing a subtle
change into her face, a faint line on her forehead, and a suggestion
of depth, and even pain, in the pleasant shallows of her leaf-brown
eyes. Perhaps the discontent was mere weariness of the whole
situation; if so, she did not recognize it for what it was. Her
fellow-prisoner, straining furtively against the bond of the flesh
which was all that held him to her, might have enlightened her, but he
took her love so for granted, that he never suspected the discontent.
However, watching David, Helena was herself unconscious of it; when
she was sure the little boy was sound asleep she stole the "forty
kisses," which as yet he had not granted; folded the sheet back lest
he might be too hot; drew a thin blanket over his feet, and then stood
and looked at him. Suddenly, remembering Sam Wright, she turned away;
but hesitated at the door, and came back for one more look. At last,
with a sigh, she went downstairs.

"He loves your rabbits," she told Sam; "he has named them Mr. George
Rufus Smith and Mrs. Minnie Lily Smith,"

"It is all finished," said Sam.