She could excuse any young woman for
taking a fancy to him; as for himself, why she was sure he was behind no
young man of his age in appreciation of the charms of a nice-looking
young woman. So long as he was innocent she did not mind this, but oh,
if he were guilty!
She could not bear to think of it, and yet it would be mere cowardice not
to look such a matter in the face--her hope was in the Lord, and she was
ready to bear cheerfully and make the best of any suffering He might
think fit to lay upon her. That the baby must be either a boy or
girl--this much, at any rate, was clear. No less clear was it that the
child, if a boy, would resemble Theobald, and if a girl, herself.
Resemblance, whether of body or mind, generally leaped over a generation.
The guilt of the parents must not be shared by the innocent offspring of
shame--oh! no--and such a child as this would be . . . She was off in one
of her reveries at once.
The child was in the act of being consecrated Archbishop of Canterbury
when Theobald came in from a visit in the parish, and was told of the
shocking discovery.
Christina said nothing about Ernest, and I believe was more than half
angry when the blame was laid upon other shoulders.
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