But Hannah was firm as she replied: "I know that I am right, madam. And so long as I am able and willing to
supply all his wants myself, and so long as I do supply them, I do him
no injury in refusing for him the help of others."
"But do you have to supply all his wants? I suppose that his father must
be a poor man, but is he so poor as not to be able to render you some
assistance?"
Hannah paused a moment in thought before answering this question, then
she said: "His father is dead, my lady." (Dead to him was her mental reservation.) "Poor orphan," sighed the countess, with the tears springing to her
eyes; "and you will not let me do anything for him?"
"I prefer to take care of him myself, madam, for the short time that he
will need care," replied Hannah.
"Well, then," sighed the lady, as she restored her purse to her pocket,
"remember this--if from any circumstances whatever you should change
your mind, and be willing to accept my protection for this child, come
to me frankly, and you will find that I have not changed my mind. I
shall always be glad to do anything in my power for this poor babe."
"I thank you, my lady; I thank you very much," said Hannah, without
committing herself to any promise.
What instinct was it that impelled the countess to stoop and kiss the
brow of the sleeping babe, and then to catch him up and press him fondly
to her heart? Who can tell?
The action awoke the infant, who opened his large blue eyes to the gaze
of the lady.
"Hannah, you need not think this boy is going to die. He is only a
skeleton; but in his strong, bright eyes there is no sign of death--but
certainty of life! Take the word of one who has the blood of a Hebrew
prophetess in her veins for that!" said Berenice, with solemnity.
"It will be as the Lord wills, my lady," Hannah reverently replied.
The countess laid the infant back upon the bed and then drew her sable
cloak around her shoulders, shook hands with Hannah, and departed.
Hannah Worth stood looking after the lady for some little space of time.
Hannah was an accurate reader of character, and she had seen at the
first glance that this pale, sad, but most beautiful woman could not be
the bad, artful, deceitful creature that her husband had been led to
believe and to represent her. And she wondered what mistake it could
possibly have been that had estranged Herman Brudenell from his lovely
wife and left his heart vacant for the reception of another and a most
fatal passion.