You
have not let me see my own nephew yet.'
Albinia looked with her wistful piteous face at her brother as he
took in his arms her noble-looking fair infant.
'You are a great fellow indeed, sir,' said his uncle. 'Now if I were
your mamma, I would be proud of you, rather than--'
'I am afraid!' said Albinia, in a sudden low whisper.
He looked at her anxiously.
'Let me have him,' she said; then as Maurice bent over her, and she
hastily gathered the babe into her arms, she whispered in quick, low,
faint accents, 'Do you know how many children have been born in this
house?'
Mr. Ferrars understood her, he too had seen the catalogue in the
church, and guessed that the phantoms of her boy's dead brethren
dwelt on her imagination, forbidding her to rejoice in him hopefully.
He tried to say something encouraging of the child's appearance, but
she would not let him go on. 'I know,' she said, 'he is so now--
but--' then catching her breath again and speaking very low, 'his
father does not dare look at him--I see that he is sorry for me--
Oh, Maurice, it will come, and I shall be able to do nothing!'
Maurice felt his lip quivering as his sister's voice became choked--the
sister to whom he had once been the whole world, and who still could
pour out her inmost heart more freely to him than to any other. But
it was a time for grave authority, and though he spoke gently, it was
almost sternly.
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