his wife, as he came up the steps, had been taking another long, earnest, almost awe-stricken gaze at the little white stranger. she hardly knew whether it was a dream or no; but she could not help fancying that she saw the delicate print of violet's fingers on the child's neck. it looked just as if, while violet was shaping out the image, she had given it a gentle pat with her hand, and had neglected to smooth the impression quite away.