‘Yes, but you will not be too strict with him--’ and more was following, when her brother said, ‘I promise you to make him my special charge. I like the boy very much. I think you may be reasonable, and trust him with me, without so much agitation. You have not let me see my own nephew yet.’
Albinia looked with her wistful piteous face at her brother as he took in his arms her noble-looking fair infant.
‘You are a great fellow indeed, sir,’ said his uncle. ‘Now if I were your mamma, I would be proud of you, rather than--’
‘I am afraid!’ said Albinia, in a sudden low whisper.
‘Let me have him,’ she said; then as Maurice bent over her, and she hastily gathered the babe into her arms, she whispered in quick, low, faint accents, ‘Do you know how many children have been born in this house?’
Mr. Ferrars understood her, he too had seen the catalogue in the church, and guessed that the phantoms of her boy’s dead brethren dwelt on her imagination, forbidding her to rejoice in him hopefully. He tried to say something encouraging of the child’s appearance, but she would not let him go on. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘he is so now--but--’ then catching her breath again and speaking very low, ‘his father does not dare look at him--I see that he is sorry for me--Oh, Maurice, it will come, and I shall be able to do nothing!’
Maurice felt his lip quivering as his sister’s voice became choked--the sister to whom he had once been the whole world, and who still could pour out her inmost heart more freely to him than to any other. But it was a time for grave authority, and though he spoke gently, it was almost sternly.
‘Albinia, this is not right. It is not thankful or trustful. No, do not cry, but listen to me. Your child is as likely to do well as any child in the world, but nothing is so likely to do him harm as your want of composure.’
‘I tell myself so,’ said Albinia, ‘but there is no helping it.’
‘Yes, there is. Make it your duty to keep yourself still, and not be troubled about what may or may not happen, but be glad of the present pleasure.’
‘Don’t you think I am?’ said Albinia, half smiling; ‘so glad, that I grow frightened at myself, and--’ As if fain to leave the subject, she added, ‘And it is what you don’t understand, Maurice, but he can’t be the first to Edmund as he is to me--never--and when I get almost jealous for him, I think of Gilbert and the girls--and oh! there is so much to do for them--they want a mother so much--and Winifred wont let me see them, or tell me about them!’