griefs of the other sex. The
intelligence of the female reader must come to our aid, and fill up our
cold outlines. So have I indicated, rather than described, what Margaret
Brandt went through up to that eventful day, when she entered Eli's
house an enemy, read her sweetheart's letter, and remained a friend.

And now a woman's greatest trial drew near, and Gerard far away.

She availed herself but little of Eli's sudden favour; for this reserve
she had always a plausible reason ready; and never hinted at the true
one, which was this; there were two men in that house at sight of
whom she shuddered with instinctive antipathy and dread. She had read
wickedness and hatred in their faces, and mysterious signals of secret
intelligence. She preferred to receive Catherine and her daughter at
home. The former went to see her every day, and was wrapped up in the
expected event.

Catherine was one of those females whose office is to multiply, and rear
the multiplied: who, when at last they consent to leave off pelting
one out of every room in the house with babies, hover about the fair
scourges that are still in full swing, and do so cluck, they seem to
multiply by proxy. It was in this spirit she entreated Eli to let her
stay at Rotterdam, while he went back to Tergou.

"The poor lass hath not a soul about her, that knows anything about
anything. What avail a pair o' soldiers? Why, that sort o' cattle should
be putten out o' doors the first, at such an a time."

Need I say that this was a great comfort to Margaret.

Poor soul, she was full of anxiety as the time drew near.

She should die; and Gerard away.

But things balance themselves. Her poverty, and her father's
helplessness, which had cost her such a struggle, stood her in good
stead now.

Adversity's iron hand had forced her to battle the lassitude that
overpowers the rich of her sex, and to be for ever on her feet, working.
She kept this up to the last by Catherine's advice.

And so it was, that one fine evening, just at sunset, she lay weak
as water, but safe; with a little face by her side, and the heaven of
maternity opening on her.

"Why dost weep, sweetheart? All of a sudden?"

"He is not here to see it."

"Ah, well, lass, he will be here ere 'tis weaned. Meantime God hath
been as good to thee as to e'er a woman born; and do but bethink thee
it might have been a girl; didn't my very own Kate threaten me with one;
and here we have got the bonniest boy