It
seemed to her that her doom was certain. Leonard would be taken
from her. She had a firm conviction--not the less firm because
she knew not on what it was based--that a child, whether
legitimate or not, belonged of legal right to the father. And
Leonard, of all children, was the prince and monarch. Every
man's heart would long to call Leonard "Child!" She had been too
strongly taxed to have much power left her to reason coolly and
dispassionately, just then, even if she had been with any one who
could furnish her with information from which to draw correct
conclusions. The one thought haunted her night and day--"He will
take my child away from me!" In her dreams she saw Leonard borne
away into some dim land, to which she could not follow. Sometimes
he sat in a swiftly-moving carriage, at his father's side, and
smiled on her as he passed by, as if going to promised pleasure.
At another time he was struggling to return to her; stretching
out his little arms, and crying to her for the help she could not
give. How she got through the days she did not know; her body
moved about and habitually acted, but her spirit was with her
child. She thought often of writing and warning Mr. Benson of
Leonard's danger; but then she shrank from recurring to
circumstances all mention of which had ceased years ago; the very
recollection of which seemed buried deep for ever. Besides, she
feared occasioning discord or commotion in the quiet circle in
which she lived.
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