THE STOLEN CHILD.

Cedric, smitten almost to the death, bade The driver go with haste. He found her and She, smiling, whispered low: “My Cedric, you Have come to meet me. Is this heaven?” then placed The baby hand in his and falling back, She was indeed in heaven. Cedric, tearless, For a moment stood as one struck dumb; then Took the baby in his arms. She too young To understand, or lisp her mother’s name Or his, as though instinctively, she threw Her rosy arms about his neck and kissed Him. Then confiding, laid her golden curls Upon his breast. The nurses, thinking him A base deserter, hoping he at least Would own the child, and seeing him caress It—placed tenderly its costly wrappings ’Round, and quickly packed its ample clothing, Gave it him. He kissed the marble brow and Turning to the one who had the right to Speak for all, he inquired about the rites And ceremonies of her faith, “Were they Performed?” “Yes,” the matron said, “the good priest Has been often by her side, left her just Before you came; the one who married her.” He paced the hall and pondered, mystified. What he had heard and seen had set his brain Awhirl. So she was married! Then to whom? Her husband might at any moment come And claim his child—claim Lola’s child—he quick Resolved to take the babe and give his life To her—to care for her, for Lola’s sake; For she was Lola’s child, if not his own. They must not know that he was not the one Who married her. He must not see the priest. He, in his frenzy, cast aside all thought Of right or wrong—decided he would Steal—yea, lie or even die before that One who had deserted her should have her Child. He gave them gold, and speaking calmly, (Falsely, too, as he supposed) said: “Tell them Her husband ordered that her last resting Place shall be a mausoleum grand, and To him you gave the child—the one to whom It rightfully belongs; say that he loved Her to the last, and would that he had died; That she had mourned for him—not he for her.” Then, with a farewell kiss, he took the child, Believing he was stealing it away. The baby clung to him and was content. But for the child his life had ended there; Then there had been no tie to bind, no one To love. The past almost a blank, and in The future no alluring hope, he fain Had snap’d the slender thread of life, to be With Lola evermore. Or, had he been One of the weaker kind, complaining at His fate, he had perchance by slower Process, ended all in low debauchery.