And when he came home, both mother and child were asleep. He was almost
jealous of the baby, for there had been a certain charm in the thought
that while he was out, somebody was sitting alone at home, eagerly
awaiting his return.
Now he was allowed his afternoon nap. And as soon as he had gone back
to town, the piano was opened and the favourite song of the _Rose in
the Wood_ was sung, for it was quite new to Harold, and had regained
all its freshness for poor little Laura who hadn't heard it for so many
days.
She had no time now for crochet work, but there were plenty of
antimacassars in the house. He, on his part, could not spare the time
for his dissertation.
"Harold shall write it," said the father, for he knew now that his
life would not be over when he came to die.
Many an evening they sat together, as before, and gossiped, but now
both took a share in the conversation, for now she understood what
they were talking about.
She confessed that she was a silly girl who knew nothing about religion
and the drama; but she said that she had always told him so, and that he
had refused to believe it.
But now he believed it less than ever.
They sang the old favourite song, and Harold crowed, they danced to the
tune and rocked the baby's cradle to it, and the song always retained
its freshness and charm.
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