Winifred was obliged to look out at the window to hide her smile.  Maurice, who was standing on the lawn with the very John Smith, beckoned to her, and she went down to hear his plans.  He was wanted at home the next day, and asked whether she thought he had better take Gilbert with him.  ’It is the wisest thing that has been said yet!’ exclaimed she.  ‘Now I shall have a chance for Albinia!’ and accordingly, Mr. Kendal having given a gracious and grateful consent, Albinia was informed; but Winifred thought her almost perverse when a perturbed look came over her, and she said, ’It is very kind in Maurice, but I must speak to him.’

He was struck by the worn, restless expression of her features, so unlike the calm contented repose of a young mother, and when she spoke to him, her first word was of Gilbert.  ’Maurice, it is so kind, I know you will make him happy—­but oh! take care—­he is so delicate—­indeed, he is—­don’t let him get wet through.’

Maurice promised, but Albinia resumed with minutiae of directions, ending with, ’Oh! if he should get hurt or into any mischief, what should we do?  Pray, take care, Maurice, you are not used to such delicate boys.’

‘My dear, I think you may rely on me.’

‘Yes, but you will not be too strict with him—­’ and more was following, when her brother said, ’I promise you to make him my special charge.  I like the boy very much.  I think you may be reasonable, and trust him with me, without so much agitation.  You have not let me see my own nephew yet.’

Albinia looked with her wistful piteous face at her brother as he took in his arms her noble-looking fair infant.

‘You are a great fellow indeed, sir,’ said his uncle.  ’Now if I were your mamma, I would be proud of you, rather than—­’

‘I am afraid!’ said Albinia, in a sudden low whisper.

He looked at her anxiously.

‘Let me have him,’ she said; then as Maurice bent over her, and she hastily gathered the babe into her arms, she whispered in quick, low, faint accents, ’Do you know how many children have been born in this house?’

Mr. Ferrars understood her, he too had seen the catalogue in the church, and guessed that the phantoms of her boy’s dead brethren dwelt on her imagination, forbidding her to rejoice in him hopefully.  He tried to say something encouraging of the child’s appearance, but she would not let him go on.  ‘I know,’ she said, ’he is so now—­ but—­’ then catching her breath again and speaking very low, ’his father does not dare look at him—­I see that he is sorry for me—­ Oh, Maurice, it will come, and I shall be able to do nothing!’

Maurice felt his lip quivering as his sister’s voice became choked—­the sister to whom he had once been the whole world, and who still could pour out her inmost heart more freely to him than to any other.  But it was a time for grave authority, and though he spoke gently, it was almost sternly.