"Lady Hurstmonceux—"
"Stop! listen to me first, Hannah! I do not blame your poor sister. Heaven knows I pitied her very much, and did all I could to protect her the night she came to Brudenell Hall."
"I know you did, madam," said Hannah, her heart softening at the recollection of what she had heard of the countess' share in the scene between Nora and Mrs. Brudenell.
"She knew nothing of me when she met my husband, and she could not help loving him any more than I could—any more than I could," she repeated lowly to herself; "and so, though it wrings my heart to think of it, I cannot blame her, Hannah—"
"My lady, you have no right to blame her," interrupted Nora's sister.
"I know it," meekly replied the wronged wife.
"You have no right to blame her, because she was perfectly blameless in the sight of Heaven."
Berenice looked up in surprise, sighed and continued:
"However that may be, Hannah, I am not her judge, and do not presume to arraign her. May she rest in peace! But her child! Herman's child! my child! It is of him I wish to speak! Oh, Hannah, give him to me! I want him so much! I long for him so intensely! My heart warms to him so ardently! He will be such a comfort, such a blessing, such a salvation to me, Hannah! I will love him so well, and rear him so carefully, and make him so happy! I will educate him, provide for all his wants, and give him a profession. And if I am never reconciled to my husband—" Here again her voice faltered and broke down; but after a dry sob, she resumed: "If I am never reconciled to my husband, I will make his son my heir; for I hold all my large property in my own right, Hannah! Say, will you give me my husband's son?"
"But, my lady—"