been given to him without any instructions on that head. Mr.
Trevelyan had simply expressed his satisfaction that his wife should
be with her uncle and aunt, had sent the money, and had desired to
see the child.

The boy was got ready, and Hugh walked with him in his arms round the
corner, to the Full Moon. He had to pass by the bar, and the barmaid
and the potboy looked at him very hard. "There's a young 'ooman has
to do with that ere little game," said the potboy. "And it's two to
one the young 'ooman has the worst of it," said the barmaid. "They
mostly does," said the potboy, not without some feeling of pride in
the immunities of his sex. "Here he is," said Hugh, as he entered
the parlour. "My boy, there's papa." The child at this time was more
than a year old, and could crawl about and use his own legs with the
assistance of a finger to his little hand, and could utter a sound
which the fond mother interpreted to mean papa; for with all her hot
anger against her husband, the mother was above all things anxious
that her child should be taught to love his father's name. She
would talk of her separation from her husband as though it must be
permanent; she would declare to her sister how impossible it was that
they should ever again live together; she would repeat to herself
over and over the tale of the injustice that had been done to her,
assuring herself that it was out of the question that she should ever
pardon the man; but yet, at the bottom of her heart, there was a hope
that the quarrel should be healed before her boy would be old enough
to understand the nature of quarrelling. Trevelyan took the child on
to his knee, and kissed him; but the poor little fellow, startled by
his transference from one male set of arms to another, confused by
the strangeness of the room, and by the absence of things familiar
to his sight, burst out into loud tears. He had stood the journey
round the corner in Hugh's arms manfully, and, though he had looked
about him with very serious eyes, as he passed through the bar,
he had borne that, and his carriage up the stairs; but when he
was transferred to his father, whose air, as he took the boy, was
melancholy and lugubrious in the extreme, the poor little fellow
could endure no longer a mode of treatment so unusual, and, with a
grimace which for a moment or two threatened the coming storm, burst
out with an infantine howl. "That's how he has been taught," said
Trevelyan.

[Ill