While, with breathless anxiety, the Lady of Avenel gazed on
his well-formed and expressive features, a slight shade of colour
returned gradually to the cheek; suspended animation became restored
by degrees, the child sighed deeply, opened his eyes, which to the
human countenance produces the effect of light upon the natural
landscape, stretched his arms towards the Lady, and muttered the word
"Mother," that epithet, of all others, which is dearest to the female
ear.
"God, madam," said the preacher, "has restored the child to your
wishes; it must be yours so to bring him up, that he may not one day
wish that he had perished in his innocence."
"It shall be my charge," said the Lady; and again throwing her arms
around the boy, she overwhelmed him with kisses and caresses, so much
was she agitated by the terror arising from the danger in which he had
been just placed, and by joy at his unexpected deliverance.
"But you are not my mother," said the boy, recovering his
recollection, and endeavouring, though faintly, to escape from the
caresses of the Lady of Avenel; "you are not my mother,--alas! I have
no mother--only I have dreamt that I had one."
"I will read the dream for you, my love," answered the Lady of Avenel;
"and I will be myself your mother. Surely God has heard my wishes,
and, in his own marvellous manner, hath sent me an object on which my
affections may expand themselves." She looked towards Warden as she
spoke. The preacher hesitated what he should reply to a burst of
passionate feeling, which, perhaps, seemed to him more enthusiastic
than the occasion demanded.
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