Let him look at the little girl now; let him feel the fulness of the love she inspired in him; let him imagine that he was desolate and friendless, and in want, and that this frail flower, this tender little lamb, pined and grew wan and ragged for food and raiment; let him mingle with his own emotion the pain and torment which a mother’s heart would feel in the presence of this baby’s sufferings; and then let him condemn his wife, if he could, for sacrificing her memories and accepting food and shelter from any hand that offered them under any honourable conditions.
He could not speak again for some time; and Nelly, growing tired of sitting, slipped from his knee, and betook herself to her toys.
Then his eyes kindled anew, and he watched her eagerly. He longed to ask her questions—to hear her lisp him sweet assurances of his Dolly’s love—to learn from her little lips that her mother was his, had been, would always be his, though separated from him by a barrier as formidable as death. But there was no question he could put which the child might not repeat again; for, backward as she was in speech, her small imperfect language would be intelligible enough to the mother. His curiosity would be too unnatural in a stranger not to excite Dolly’s suspicions; and if they should not even lead to the discovery of his secret, they might be the means of breaking off all intercourse between him and his child.
And so he remained silent; and presently, as he sat watching the little creature pushing her doll to and fro in the cart and talking to herself, a calm came upon his heart—a sense of exquisite repose and security. You would have said, to look upon him and remark the placid sweetness that reigned in his face, that the child’s prayer had veritably done its office—that God had blessed him indeed.
A long hour passed. The garden was fresh and cool; the declining sun mellowed the gray walls and kindled many little suns in the vine-draped windows; the sparrows flitted quickly with short chirrups from tree to tree; and the crooning of the hens added completeness to the peace and tenderness that breathed in the air.
Once again Nelly was on Holdsworth’s knee, fetching vague replies from her struggling perceptions for his questions, when Mrs. Parrot came out of the house and said that Mrs. Conway was in the sitting-room, waiting to take her little girl home.
Holdsworth glanced quickly at the window of the room, but did not see her. He put the child down hurriedly, and said:
“There, my little pet, run along with Mrs. Parrot.”
“Won’t you come and speak to Mrs. Conway, sir?” asked Mrs. Parrot. “She wants to thank you for your kindness.”
“No—no—pray don’t let her call it kindness,” stammered Holdsworth, who was very pale.