The Marriage of Esther by Guy Boothby — Read

The birth of his son opened up to Ellison a new world. For the first month of that baby life everything connected with his own past was forgotten in one intense joy of possession. He began to understand that hitherto he had only vegetated; now he lived the life of a man who was not only a husband but a parent. The thread of his existence was a continuous one, woven and drawn in by the pink tenderness of a baby fingers. And as he noticed the growth of intelligence in those little eyes -- the first faint dawning of the human soul within -- his pleasure and delight increased a thousand-fold. He could hardly believe that the child was his own, his very own, bound to him by all the ties of flesh and blood -- a veritable human, with a soul to be lost or to be saved by his influence. On the strength of his happiness he began to build gigantic castles in the air, and, what was more, to handsomely furnish them.

As for Esther, the motherhood that had come to her added a charm to her sweetness that her husband, much as he loved her, had neither known nor guessed that she possessed. The child was a perpetual mystery to her, and a never-ending charm. And yet with it all her husband was always the chiefest in her eyes. There was a difference in the love she felt for them -- a difference that she could hardly account for or understand. One was _of_ the other, yet not _the_ other. One was a love she had in a measure created for herself; the other was nothing more nor less than herself. Indeed, their home life was now almost as perfect as it was possible for it to be. With a substantial banking account -- how obtained Ellison never allowed himself to think; the new pearling season approaching with glowing prospects; a tender, loving wife to care for and protect; a son and heir to bind them closer to each other, he might indeed esteem himself a lucky man.