"He cannot have much of that," remarked Mr. Grubb. "The nurse says she cannot get him to take his food. If he does not, he must sink, Adela."
Their eyes met. There was certainly no reproach in his, only a settled look of pain. Adela did not want her baby to die, and the fear of it was beginning to trouble her; she was aware that, looking at matters from their point of view, her enemies', she might not be altogether unconscious of meriting some reproach. Back she lay on the pillow again, and burst into tears.
Mr. Grubb went round, bent down, and sheltered her head on his breast. "I don't want him to die," she sobbed.
"Won't you try to save him?" he whispered in his tenderly persuasive tones, as he held her face close to his own.
"But the trouble!—and the sacrifice. Oh, how cross and contrary the world sometimes is!"
"Your own child and mine, Adela! It would be only a little sacrifice, a little trouble. When he gets older, he will repay you love for love."
A pause. "I suppose you will be very cross with me if I don't, Francis."
"Am I ever cross with you! I should grieve for the child, if he died; I should grieve for your grief, for I know you would feel it. Oh, my darling, won't you try to save him? To do so must be right in God's sight."
She cried silently for a minute longer, her wet cheek lying contentedly against his. "Perhaps I will," she whispered in his ear. "For his sake, you know."
"For all our sakes, Adela."