They laid her upon the bed, Hugh himself arranging her pillows, which no
one else appeared inclined to touch.

Family opinion was against her, innocent and beautiful as she looked
lying there--so helpless, so still, with her long-fringed lashes shading
her colorless cheek, and her little hands folded upon her bosom, as if
already she were breathing the promised prayer for Hugh. Only in Mrs.
Worthington's heart was there a chord of sympathy. She couldn't help
feeling for the desolate stranger; and when, at her own request, Hannah
placed Willie in her lap, ere laying him by his mother, she gave him an
involuntary hug, and touched her lips to his fat, round cheek.

"He looks as you did, Hugh, when you were a baby like him," she said,
while Chloe rejoined:

"De very spawn of Mas'r Hugh, now. I 'tected it de fust minit. Can't
cheat dis chile," and, with a chuckle, which she meant to be very
expressive, the fat old woman waddled from the room.

Hugh and his mother were alone, and turning to her son, Mrs. Worthington
said, gently:

"This is sad business, Hugh; worse than you imagine. Do you know how
folks will talk?"

"Let them talk," Hugh growled. "It cannot be much worse than it is now.
Nobody cares for Hugh Worthington; and why should they, when his own
mother and sister are against him, in actions if not in words?--one
sighing when his name is mentioned, as if he really were the most
provoking son that ever was born, and the other openly berating him as a