When she thought of the
fearful contamination which Ellen's continued presence even for a week
would occasion, she could not hesitate.
Then came the question- horrid thought!- as to who was the partner
of Ellen's guilt? Was it, could it be, her own son, her darling
Ernest? Ernest was getting a big boy now. She could excuse any young
woman for taking a fancy to him; as for himself, why, she was sure
he was behind no young man of his age in appreciation of the charms of
a nice-looking young woman. So long as he was innocent she did not
mind this, but oh, if he were guilty!
She could not bear to think of it, and yet it would be mere
cowardice not to look such a matter in the face- her hope was in the
Lord, and she was ready to bear cheerfully and make the best of any
suffering He might think fit to lay upon her. That the baby must be
either a boy or girl- this much, at any rate, was clear. No less clear
was it that the child, if a boy, would resemble Theobald, and if a
girl, herself. Resemblance, whether of body or mind, generally
leaped over a generation. The guilt of the parents must not be
shared by the innocent offspring of shame- oh! no- and such a child as
this would be.
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