'When Theodosia asks for her husband, I will call him at once. She has not so far done so'. There was a faint edge of satisfaction in his cool speech.

No, she had not called for Joseph; he seemed unreal and far away. He could not give her strength as her father did. Nor could he hold her hand and by the sheer force of his magnetism and desire keep her from slipping over into the bottomless gulf.

So Joseph sat alone in the dining-room downstairs, as far as possible from the clack of disapproving women in the drawing-room, his stock thrown into the corner, his face buried in his hands, except that now and again, when a sharp scream penetrated through the ceiling from the floor above, he reached for the half-empty brandy bottle at his elbow.

When Saint Michael's church bells clanged six times across the fragrant May morning air, Doctor Ramsay decided that Mrs. Alston could stand no more. He fished in his dusty black bag and brought out a pair of iron forceps.

Aaron winced, the comers of his nostrils indented sharply. 'Is it necessary?' he whispered.

The doctor nodded. 'It is necessary. I assure you that I would not interfere if it were not. I notice that the incidence of childbed fever is greater when instruments are used. I don't know why. But we must risk it'. He rolled up his sleeves.

Theo moistened her parched lips. 'Father, I can't. Not any more—I can't stand——'

Aaron moved quickly to the head of the bed. He took her wet hand in his. 'Courage, Theodosia. What is to be must be. You shall stand it'. He spoke in a voice of cold parental authority, the voice which had always ordered her life, and to it there was only one response—obedience.

She gave a choked, mewing cry, gripping his hand until the bones cracked, then was quiet. Aaron sat beside her pillow, his head averted, rigid as though molded in lead, until an incredible sound echoed through the room—the fretful wail of the newborn.

Theo's hand fell open, releasing his; she sighed and, turning a little, fell at once into profound sleep.

The doctor looked up, his sweating face triumphant. 'All's well, Colonel Burr.'Tis a fine, bouncing boy. Be so good as to call one of the women to tend him.'

Aaron arose and walked lithely to the nested sheets where the doctor had laid the baby.

Minute and dusky red, it stilled its restless cry as he looked down. Its slate-gray eyes stared back at him unwinking. Aaron bent closer. Deep in his heart there moved a strange joy. The baby, with the peculiarity of the newborn, showed a greater facial resemblance than it would again for many years. It was like Theodosia. It was like himself. It was pure Burr, with no hint or taint of Alston.