“Bring me my baby! I want to see it. Every mother wishes to see her baby.” Tears came rolling from her sweet eyes.
“But child, the baby boy is not well and to bring him to you might cause serious conditions to arise.”
Well did that Doctor know the mother heart. How ready that heart ever is to suffer and to bleed that the off-spring may be shielded from some danger or a single pang.
“I can wait; don’t bring my darling if it will do him harm. A boy! A boy! My boy! I’ll wait, but where is Walter?”
The Doctor told the nurse to summon Mr. Burton, but cautioned Lucy not to excite or agitate herself as she had been quite ill.
Let him who has seen the look on the condemned felon’s face, when the poor wretch gazes on the knife within the guillotine, recall that look. Let him who has seen the last wild, desperate glance of a drowning man, recall that look, and mingle with these the look of Love at side of Hope’s death-bed, and thus find the look on Burton’s face when he entered his wife’s bedroom.
With arms outstretched she called to the faltering man,
“Walter, it is a boy! My baby! Your baby! My husband!”
The man fell, he did not drop, upon his knees by the bedside and burying his face in the covering wept bitterly. He took her hands, kissed them, and wet them with his tears.