Now and again, Annie came up with a handful of alder-currants. The baby
was restless on his mother's knee, clambering with his hands at the
light.
Mrs. Morel looked down at him. She had dreaded this baby like a
catastrophe, because of her feeling for her husband. And now she felt
strangely towards the infant. Her heart was heavy because of the child,
almost as if it were unhealthy, or malformed. Yet it seemed quite well.
But she noticed the peculiar knitting of the baby's brows, and the
peculiar heaviness of its eyes, as if it were trying to understand
something that was pain. She felt, when she looked at her child's dark,
brooding pupils, as if a burden were on her heart.
"He looks as if he was thinking about something--quite sorrowful," said
Mrs. Kirk.
Suddenly, looking at him, the heavy feeling at the mother's heart melted
into passionate grief. She bowed over him, and a few tears shook swiftly
out of her very heart. The baby lifted his fingers.
"My lamb!" she cried softly.
And at that moment she felt, in some far inner place of her soul, that
she and her husband were guilty.
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