At first there was wild, fierce rebellion; she clung to her baby, held him, indeed, so fiercely that he wailed feebly, and looked up into her face almost in terror, and she cried out that she could not—indeed, would not—give him up; no, not even to the Giver! And the little face grew daily more wasted, and the little hands more feeble, and the moments of wakeful recognition shorter, and the hours of half stupor longer, and the doctor grew less cheery when he came, and Judge Burnham grew restless and nervous—went later every day to town and returned earlier, and was, in his silent, restrained, yet passionate way, fully as rebellious as his wife.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
“THE OIL OF JOY.”
EVEN yet the doctor had said no word of discouragement. And Judge Burnham had, though he had ceased laughing at Ruth fears, sharply controverted them. And she?—she felt she would have stricken down any one who had breathed a word of danger. It was fearful enough to feel it; let no one dare to speak it. Once when Judge Burnham—filled with pity for her loneliness during the hours when he was obliged to be away—suggested recalling the travellers, she turned toward him fiercely:
“Why?” she asked him; “what do you mean? Are you keeping something from me? Does the Doctor tell you what he does not me? Judge Burnham, I will never forgive you if you deceive me.”
“Why, no,” he said, “Ruth, no; why will you be so unreasonable? The Doctor says he sees no ground as yet for special anxiety. He says to me just what he says to you. No one thinks of deception. I only felt that it would be less lonely with the girls at home; and Susan would be a comfort.”
“Comfort!” she said, still speaking sharply. “Why have I need of comfort? I have my baby, and I can take care of him; and as for loneliness, the house is full from morning till night. One would think people never heard of a sick child before. They are always sick when teething. Why should we be so unreasonably frightened?”