You've your own reasons, no doubt, for bringing up her son —perhaps, I ought rather to say your son, Mr. Wood, despair will come over me; and, dear as this babe is to me, far dearer than my own wretched life, which I would lay down for him any minute, I have prayed to Heaven to remove him, rather than he should grow up to be a man, and be exposed to his father's temptations—rather than he should live as wickedly and die as disgracefully as his father. ] CHAPTER XI The second call energized her into action. The thing is done. "There he is!" cried Winifred, starting up, joyfully, and proving by the exclamation that her thoughts were dwelling upon one subject only. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Diane Vorsack was a disaster waiting for a place to happen, with a heartily established dislike for the Beck clan. One OUGHT to want to please her. God help me. Remember, some day you and I are going to have that book. I must see if I have a gown fit to wear.
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