With Glyndon's terror she felt a sympathy, against which her reason and her love struggled in vain.

And still, when she turned her looks upon her child, it watched her with that steady, earnest eye, and its lips moved as if it sought to speak to her,--but no sound came.

The infant refused to sleep.

Whenever she gazed upon its face, still those wakeful, watchful eyes!--and in their earnestness, there spoke something of pain, of upbraiding, of accusation.

They chilled her as she looked.