"Lay it warm in thy own bed," said Nathan, "and wrap the blankets about it, and I'll run and fetch Nurse Williams, that knows how to manage little babes; and keep it still, Joan, while I'm away, whatever you do. Don't let thy aunt hear it till I come back."
How long Nathan was away Joan could not tell. She knew nothing of time as she knelt by the bedside watching the child sleeping so softly and soundly, its tiny face growing rosy with warmth. But at last her long day-dream was broken by the sound of her own name, uttered in so loud and terrible a voice that she felt as if she could not stir hand or foot. It was Aunt Priscilla's voice, not far away, nay, at the very foot of the steep and narrow staircase leading up to her room. Joan's heart seemed to stand still with terror.
"Joan, bring that child down at once!" were the words that rang in her ears; "I'll not have it one moment under my roof."
Joan did not answer or move, except to throw her little arms over the sleeping baby.
"No, no!" she heard old Nathan say; "I've lived here in this place all my life, with thy grandfather and father and thee, and I've been true and faithful in my service, and I've grieved over the poor unhappy mother of the little babe as if she'd been my own child. And now, if the baby goes away from out of the house I'll go with it. I'll stay no longer, not another hour. Thou'rt a hard woman, Priscilla Parry, and God 'll show Himself hard to thee. With the unmerciful He'll show Himself unmerciful, and with the froward He'll show Himself froward. And oh! it's a fearful thing to think of an unmerciful and hard God!"
Joan listened in terror to Nathan's strange words, but she did not hear her aunt's voice making any answer. There was utter silence for a long minute or two, followed by the sound of slow and dragging footsteps, which grew fainter and fainter till she could hear them no more. Then old Nathan came upstairs, and Nurse Williams, whom he had been to fetch.
