A year passed without any further catastrophe, and they were beginning
to hope their ghastly visitors had left them, when something else
occurred. It was Easter-time, and Ernest, his wife, and baby were
staying with them. The baby, a boy, was fat and bonny, the very
picture of health and happiness.
Mrs. Whittingen and Martha vied with one another in their devotion to
him; and either one or other of them was always dancing attendance on
him. It so happened that one afternoon, whilst the servants were
having their tea, Martha found herself alone in the upper part of the
house with her precious nephew. Mr. Whittingen had gone to Edinburgh
to consult his lawyer (the head of the firm with whom Harvey was
articled) on business, whilst Mrs. Whittingen had taken her son and
daughter-in-law for a drive. The weather was glorious, and Martha,
though as little appreciative of the beauties of nature as most
commercial-minded young women, could not but admire the colouring of
the sky as she looked out of the nursery window. The sun had
disappeared, but the effect of its rays was still apparent on the
western horizon, where the heavens were washed with alternate streaks
of gold and red and pink--the colour of each streak excessively
brilliant in the centre, but paling towards the edges. Here and there
were golden, pink-tipped clouds and crimson islets surrounded with
seas of softest blue. And outside the limits of this sun-kissed pale,
the blue of the sky gradually grew darker and darker, until its line
was altogether lost in the black shadows of night that, creeping over
the lone mountain-tops in the far east, slowly swept forward.
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