“Mayn’t I look at your baby?” she asked.
Without a word the girl stepped aside, and Mrs. Castillyon went to the cradle. The little child opened two large blue eyes and lazily yawned.
“Let me take it in my arms,” she said.
Again the fleeting colour came to Fanny’s cheeks as with a softer look she took the baby and gave it to Grace. With curious motherly instinct Grace rocked it, crooning gently, and then she kissed it. Against her will a cry was forced from her.
“Oh, I wish it were mine!”
She looked at Fanny with pitiful longing in her eyes all bright with tears; and her own emotion thawed at length the girl’s cold despair, for she buried her face in her hands and burst into passionate weeping. Grace placed the child again in the cradle, and gently leaned over Fanny.
“Don’t cry. I dare say we can do something. Do talk to me, and let me see how I can help.”
“No one can help,” she moaned. “We’ve got to go in a week; the Squire says so.”
“But I’ll try and make him change his mind, and if I can’t I’ll see that you and the baby are well provided for.”
Fanny shook her head hopelessly.