A glorious summer was once more brooding over sea and land, when one
morning, in Nance's cottage, a feeble wail was heard; a sound which
brought a flood of happiness to Valmai, for nothing could wholly crush
the joyous welcome of a mother's heart. For a little while the past
months of sorrow and weariness were forgotten. The bitter
disappointment caused by Cardo's silence, lying deep below the surface,
was of so mysterious a nature that she scarcely found words to express
it even to herself. That he was false, that he had forgotten her,
never entered her mind. Some dire misfortune had befallen him; some
cruel fate detained him. Was it sickness? Was it death? There was
nothing for her but to bear and to wait; and God had sent this tiny
messenger of love to help and comfort her in her weary waiting. She
still believed that Cardo would return; he had promised, and if he were
living he would keep his promise--of this she felt certain. Secure
from the sneers and scornful glances of the world, alone in Nance's
cottage, her heart awoke afresh to the interests of life. Her baby boy
was bright and strong, and she watched with delight his growing
likeness to Cardo; the black hair, the black eyes, and the curve on the
rosebud mouth, which reminded her so much of his smile. Nance wondered
much at the girl's cheerfulness, and sometimes felt it her duty to
remind her, by look or tone, of the sorrow connected with her child's
birth.
"Look at him, Nance. See these lovely little feet, and there's strong
he is!"
"Yes, druan bâch, he is a beautiful boy, indeed," she would answer
with a sigh, drawing her wrinkled finger over the fresh soft cheek.
Valmai began to chafe at the want of brightness which surrounded her
little one's life. She was proud of him, and wished to take him into
the village.
"No, my child," said Nance gently, "you had better not."
"Why not?" was on Valmai's lips, but she hesitated. A deep blush
crimsoned her face. "My boy has nothing to be ashamed of," she said,
with a proud toss of her head.
"When is he to be christened?" was Nance's next question.
"September."
"September!" gasped the old woman, "he will be three months old; and
what if anything should happen to him before then?"
"Nothing shall happen to him," said Valmai, folding him to her heart.
"My life and my body are larger than his, and they will both have to go
before any harm reaches him."
"There's a foolish thing to say," said Nance, "and I wonder at you,
merch i. You ought to know by this time that we are clay in the hands
of the Potter. Little heart, he ought to be christened, and have a
name of his own."