"Oh,
Charles! can such things be? Does God give a child to a woman that has
the heart to kill it, and refuse one to me, who would give my heart's
blood to save a hair of its little head? Oh, what have we done that he
singles us out to be so cruel to us?"
Then Sir Charles tried to comfort her, but could not, and the childless
ones wept together.
It began to be whispered that Mrs. Bassett was in the family way.
Neither Sir Charles nor Lady Bassett mentioned this rumor. It would
have been like rubbing vitriol into their own wounds. But this reserve
was broken through one day. It was a sunny afternoon in June, just
thirteen months after Mr. Bassett's wedding--Lady Bassett was with her
husband in his study, settling invitations for a ball, and writing
them--when the church-bells struck up a merry peal. They both left off,
and looked at each other eloquently. Lady Bassett went out, but soon
returned, looking pale and wild.
_"Yes!"_ said she, with forced calmness. Then, suddenly losing her
self-command, she broke out, pointing through the window at Highmore,
_"He_ has got a fine boy--to take our place here. Kill me, Charles!
Send me to heaven to pray for you, and take another wife that will love
you less but be like other wives. That villain has married a fruitful
vine, and" (lifting both arms to heaven, with a gesture unspeakably
piteous, poetic, and touching) "I am a barren stock.
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