"His father is dead, my lady." (Dead to him was her mental reservation.)
"Poor orphan," sighed the countess, with the tears springing to her eyes; "and you will not let me do anything for him?"
"I prefer to take care of him myself, madam, for the short time that he will need care," replied Hannah.
"Well, then," sighed the lady, as she restored her purse to her pocket, "remember this—if from any circumstances whatever you should change your mind, and be willing to accept my protection for this child, come to me frankly, and you will find that I have not changed my mind. I shall always be glad to do anything in my power for this poor babe."
"I thank you, my lady; I thank you very much," said Hannah, without committing herself to any promise.
What instinct was it that impelled the countess to stoop and kiss the brow of the sleeping babe, and then to catch him up and press him fondly to her heart? Who can tell?
The action awoke the infant, who opened his large blue eyes to the gaze of the lady.
"Hannah, you need not think this boy is going to die. He is only a skeleton; but in his strong, bright eyes there is no sign of death—but certainty of life! Take the word of one who has the blood of a Hebrew prophetess in her veins for that!" said Berenice, with solemnity.
"It will be as the Lord wills, my lady," Hannah reverently replied.
The countess laid the infant back upon the bed and then drew her sable cloak around her shoulders, shook hands with Hannah, and departed.