Upstairs, in the room above her, the emigrant mother and baby lay sleeping in the warmth and shelter gathered round them by Elizabeth.

But in tending them, she had been also feeding her own yearning, quickening her own hope.

She had given herself to a man whom she adored, and she carried his child on her heart.

Many and various strands would have gone to the weaving of that little soul; she trembled sometimes to think of them.

But no fear with her lasted long.