THE ANSWER.
THE next morning, after the poor young mother's death, a cab stopped at
Sunnyside, and the nurse got out with the little babe in her arms.
Ellen opened the door to them, and ushered them into the drawing room,
where Christina was sitting, while by her stood Walter, who had but
that moment arrived with the message that the babe was on its way, but
had not had time to give it.
"Here she is, ma'am," said the motherly nurse, coming forward. And
Christina held out her arms, while a sudden qualm came over her as to
whether she would be able properly to fulfil her trust.
When the little tender form rested on her knees, and she looked into
its white, half-starved face, and thought of all the love that young
mother had lavished on it, but that now it could never know such a love
again, she bent her head over it, and burst into tears.
"Don't cry, ma'am," said the nurse kindly; "you will be like a mother
to it, poor lamb; it will never know the difference, and the poor
creature that's gone to glory trusted it to you and her Saviour."
Christina wiped the tears away which had fallen on the baby's face and
shawl, and stooped and kissed it tenderly. "Poor wee thing. Oh, Walter,
I wish I knew more how to do for it, and comfort it!" she said, while
she could not help crying afresh.
"You will soon learn; and I believe will not need much learning
either," he said, touched by her tears and her tender face.
Christina turned to the nurse and said, looking up, "You will like some
lunch, I am sure, nurse; but let me know when you are ready to go; I
have a note to send."
When Walter and she were again alone, Christina once more bent and
kissed the little sleeping face.
"Walter," she said, looking up, and speaking earnestly, "I could never
part from this little one while God spares her life. She is taken
into my heart for once and all; so young, so helpless, left me by her
mother, lent to me by God! I can never part with her."
"I would not ask it," he said very low, while the sudden hope rushed
into his heart and face at once, that now might be the time for
Christina's answer.
"Have I waited long enough, dear?" he asked, his voice trembling
strangely. "Could you give me hope now?"
"Dear Walter!" she said, laying her soft hand on his for an instant.
"How patient and kind you have been."
He looked in her face questioningly, and their eyes met: hers, still
dewy with tears; his, strong, faithful, true.
"I must not keep you waiting for ever," she said hesitating; "and if
you care so much still—why—Walter, I shall miss you dreadfully when you
go."
"Christina!" he exclaimed. "Then you will?"
"Yes," she answered; "you have been so very good to me."
* * * * * * *
"The nurse is ready, ma'am," said Ellen, opening the door a few minutes
after.
"Then fetch Margaret too, I want her to see the little baby. Look,
Ellen, shall we not all long to put some colour into these thin little
cheeks?"
"Poor little mite!" exclaimed Ellen. "And so the poor mother is dead,
ma'am?"
"Yes," said Christina; "but she died trusting in Christ; what a mercy
that was."
"Yes, indeed," answered Ellen, going off to fetch Margaret, whose
motherly arms soon held the baby. "We ought to have a fire for it," she
said to Christina, "if you will allow it, ma'am."
"Oh, certainly! But I cannot think what we shall do for clothes."
"Mamma sent a message about that," said Walter, "and a parcel."
"Just like her," answered Christina; "and what was the message?"
"That she would lend you whatever you wanted more than these, till you
had time to get some made. Nellie has already begun to cut out several
little garments; and Netta and Isabel had on their thimbles when I came
away."
"What dear little girls they are," said Christina; "we shall all have
to be busy. Did you hear its name, Walter?"
"Yes; she told my father it was Alice Forbes."
"A pretty name," said Christina.
The baby gave a little sound, which rather startled them all; and
Margaret said she should take her to the play-room at once, and feed
her.
"See, Maggie!" she exclaimed, entering, "here's the dearest little baby
for us!"
Maggie came directly and peeped at the bundle on her mother's knee.
"Come Alfy," said Margaret, "you must love her too."
"Me don't 'ike babies," said Alfy, who was standing by the guard
watching Ellen's quick movements in igniting the already laid fire; "me
'ike to see the fire."
"What tiny feet!" said Margaret, taking no notice of Master Alfy.
"Look, Maggie. I never did see such a thin baby, Ellen; it makes my
heart ache dreadfully!"
"That will burn," said Ellen, getting up and replacing the large guard.
"Margaret, these guards are much nicer with these wide-apart bars going
downwards, so that they cannot climb, and yet can feel the heat."
"Yes; so I thought when I first saw it. Now, baby, come and spread your
poor little toes at this blaze."
Alfy's eyes had wandered in the direction of the baby in spite of his
intentions, and he now drew a little nearer, and carefully pulled the
old shawl aside to get a view of her face. He made no remark, however,
but went back to his favourite arm-chair and little table.
Christina soon came in with the parcel and began opening it on the
table, assisted by Maggie, who was extremely interested in its contents.
"Here is a little frock, and here's another," she exclaimed; "and
here's a flannel petticoat; and, oh!" Jumping down, "Let me warm it,
mother, ready for the baby."
"Do," said her mother; "for I think, ma'am, I shall bathe it just as if
I had had it all night, it will be all the better for it."
"Yes," said Christina; "and if you want any help, remember I shall
always be ready to come, or will send someone."
She left the room, and met Walter in the hall.
"I must go," he said regretfully; "but I will come back again if you
will let me?"
"Very well," she said, smiling slightly, and looking down, "whenever
you wish."
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