Contrary to the expectations of all, little Rose lingered until she was three months old. Gertrude had gained her strength and scarcely had a thought outside her nursery. The infant was so feeble that the journey to New York had been postponed from time to time, greatly to Hannah's disappointment. The Doctor had told Mr. Dudley that his child could not linger many weeks longer; hinting that he had better break the intelligence gradually to the mother as the effect on her sensitive heart might be alarming; but Paul did not relish scenes as he said to himself, and thought there was time enough yet.
"It's getting to be an angel, ma'am."
The affection of Gertrude for her child was beautiful to witness. Every morning Marion Gilbert's feet tripped over the frozen ground, between her father's house and Gerty's, entering Mr. Dudley's by the side door, where Bridget was putting her kitchen in order, and inquiring:
"How's the baby?"
At this Bridget's apron would go up to her eyes.
"It's getting to be an angel, ma'am. Every day I see it."
In the neat nursery, Marion always found the two children, Gerty and Rose; for the mother since her illness allowed her hair to curl in her neck as formerly, and would easily be mistaken for a child just entering her teens.
The favorite seat of the mother was a low rocking chair lent her by Mrs. Gilbert; and which had been efficacious in rocking all the young Gilberts to sleep. Here in front of the cheerful coal fire, she sat, with her little blossom cradled in her arms, singing a low lullaby; or if the deep blue eyes of baby were closed, there was a Bible close at hand, from which a few words might be read.
Gertrude had given up all her studies now, except that of the Holy Book. Marion often thought, as she saw her storing her mind with its precious truths that by them her Father in heaven meant to fortify her heart in view of the separation which it was apparent to every one must soon come.