Were it not better that the Saints should take him to their
keeping, while yet a sackless babe?"
Grisell wrung her hands together. "Ah! he hath been all my joy or
bliss through these years; but I will strive to say it is well, and
yield my will."
The crying of the poor little sufferer for his Grisly called her back
before she could say or hear more. Her mother lay still utterly
exhausted on her bed, and hardly noticed her; but all that evening,
and all the ensuing night, Grisell held the boy, sometimes on her
lap, sometimes on the bed, while all the time his moans grew more and
more feeble, his words more indistinct. By and by, as she sat on the
bed, holding him on her breast, he dropped asleep, and perhaps,
outwearied as she was, she slept too. At any rate all was still,
till she was roused by a cry from Thora, "Holy St. Hilda! the bairn
has passed!"
And indeed when Grisell started, the little head and hand that had
been clasped to her fell utterly prone, and there was a strange cold
at her breast.
Her mother woke with a loud wail. "My bairn! My bairn!" snatching
him to her arms. "This is none other than your Dutchman's doings,
girl. Have him to the dungeon! Where are the stocks? Oh, my pretty
boy! He breathed, he is living. Give me the wine!" Then as there
was no opening of the pale lips, she fell into another tempest of
tears, during which Grisell rushed to the stair, where on the lowest
step she met Lambert and Ridley.
Pages:
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132