“Grace,” he said, having first sent the woman of the house out of the room on some trifling errand, “do you know who this boy’s mother is?”
“I have heard them speak of her as Mag, uncle, but I do not know of any other name.”
“She is the wife of your husband’s brother Philip, Grace, and this boy is his son; but she is dying now, and all the hard feelings we had toward her in the past must be forgotten.”
“Oh, uncle, I have always wished to see her; but how dreadful that it should be in this way! Let me go to her now. I can leave this child in old Dorothy’s care.”
“Yes, I want you to go to her if you are willing,” said the rector. “She is anxious to see her boy, and we have promised to take him to her when he awakes. George says she will probably live a number of hours yet. She suffers no pain, and is quite conscious now.”
“Oh, is there no hope of saving her?”
“None whatever,” answered her uncle.
“Does she know she must die?”
“Yes, and she seems to have no desire to live.”
“Poor woman! What a sad life that must be which one is so willing to leave!” said Mrs. Norton, who had been gently withdrawing her hand from the close clasp of little Philip’s, and getting ready to go with her uncle.