A smile seemed to glimmer on its tiny features; and, from that moment, Margaret Cooper resolved to forget her injuries, for the time, at least, in the consideration of her proper duties. But her resolution came too late. Even while her nipple was within its boneless gums, a change came over the innocent. She did not heed it. Her eyes and thoughts were elsewhere; and thus she mused, gazing vacantly upon the wall of her chamber until her mother entered the room. Mrs. Cooper gave but a single glance at the infant when she saw that its little cares were over.
“Oh, Margaret!” she exclaimed, “the child is dead.”
The mother looked down with a start and shudder. A big tear fell from her eyes upon the cold cheek of the innocent. She released it to her mother, turned her face upon the couch, and uttered her thanks to Heaven that had secured it—that had left her again free for that darker purpose which had so long filled her mind.
“Better so,” she murmured to her mother. “It is at peace. It will neither know its own nor its mother's griefs. It is free from that shame for which I must live!”
“Come now, Margaret, no more of that,” said the mother sharply. “There's no need of shame. There are other things to live for besides shame.”
“There are—there are!” exclaimed the daughter, with spasmodic energy. “Were there not, I should, indeed, be desperate.”
“To be sure you would, my child. You have a great deal to live for yet; and let a little time blow over, and when everything's forgotten, you will get as good a husband as any girl in the country.”
“For Heaven's sake, mother, none of this?”
“But why not! Though you are looking a little bad just now—quite pale and broken—yet it's only because you have been so ill; and this nursing of babies, and having 'em too, is a sort of business to make any young woman look bad; but in spite of all, there's not a girl in the village, no matter how fresh she may be looking, that can hold a candle to you.”
“For mercy, mother!—”