But he will only develop as he
is--if living does not warp him." This was what his father said.
His mother was at her gravest as she looked down at the little god
in the crib.
"It's as if some power had thrust a casket of loose jewels into
our hands and said, 'It is for you to see that not one is lost',"
she murmured. Then the looked up and smiled.
"Are we being solemn--over a baby?" she said.
"Perhaps," he was always even readier to smile than she was. "I've
an idea, however, that there's enough to be solemn about--not too
solemn, but just solemn enough. You are a beautiful thing, Fair
Helen! Why shouldn't he be like you? Neither of us will forget
what we have just said."
Through her darkest hours of young bereavement she remembered
the words many times and felt as if they were a sort of light she
might hold in her hand as she trod the paths of the "Afterwards"
which were in the days before her. She lived with Donal at Braemarnie
and lived FOR him without neglecting her duty of being the head
of a household and an estate and also a good and gracious neighbour
to things and people. She kept watch over every jewel in his
casket, great and small. He was so much a part of her religion
that sometimes she realized that the echoes from the subterranean
chamber were perhaps making her a little strict but she tried to
keep guard over herself.
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