Granger's
gamekeepers with a plethora of sovereigns and half-sovereigns in their
corduroy pockets, and serious thoughts of the Holborough Savings Bank, and
Mr. Granger's chief butler with views that soared as high as Consols.
All the twitter and cheerful confusion of many voices in the rooms and
corridors of the grand old house dwindled and died away, until Mr. Granger
was left alone with his wife and daughter. He was not sorry to see his
visitors depart, though he was a man who, after his own fashion, was fond
of society. But before the winter was over, an event was to happen at Arden
which rendered quiet indispensable.
Late in December, while the villagers were eating Mr. Granger's beef, and
warming themselves before Mr. Granger's coals, and reaping the fruit of
laborious days in the shape of Miss Granger's various premiums for humble
virtue--while the park and woodland were wrapped in snow, and the Christmas
bells were still ringing in the clear crisp air, God gave Clarissa a
son--the first thing she had ever held in her arms which she could and
might love with all her heart.
It was like some strange dream to her, this holy mystery of motherhood. She
had not looked forward to the child's coming with any supreme pleasure, or
supposed that her life would be altered by his advent. But from the moment
she held him in her arms, a helpless morsel of humanity, hardly visible to
the uninitiated amidst his voluminous draperies, she felt herself on the
threshold of a new existence.
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