His mouth compressed itself into a petulant line, like that of a chidden child ready to cry.
"I shall be all right when I have kissed the kiddie," he said.
Miss Tranter sniffed and tossed her head.
"You're just a fool over that kiddie," she declared with emphasis,--"You make too much of him." "How can I make too much of my all ?" he asked.
Her face softened.
"Well, it's a pity you look at it in that way," she said.

"You shouldn't set your heart on anything in this world." "Why not ?" he demanded.

"Is God a friend that He should grudge us love ?" Her lips trembled a little, but she made no reply.
"What am I to set my heart on ?" he continued--"If not on anything in this world, what have I got in the next ?" A faint tinge of colour warmed Miss Tranter's sallow cheeks.
"Your wife's in the next," she answered, quietly.
His face changed--his eyes lightened.
"My wife!" he echoed.

"Good woman that you are, you know she was never my wife! No parson ever mocked us wild birds with his blessing! She was my love--my love!--so much more than wife! By Heaven! If prayer and fasting would bring me to the world where _she_ is, I'd fast and pray till I turned this body of mine to dust and ashes! But my kiddie is all I have that's left of her; and shall I not love him, nay, worship him for _her_ sake ?" Miss Tranter tried to look severe, but could not,--the strong vehemence of the man shook her self-possession.
"Love him, yes!--but don't worship him," she said.

"It's a mistake, Tom! He's only a child, after all, and he might be taken from you." "Don't say that!" and Tom suddenly gripped her by the arm.