"You shall not leave me!" he said, in that voice Letty had always been used to obey.

"Who has a right to know how things go with you, if I have not?
Come, you must tell me all about it." "I have nothing to tell, Cousin Godfrey," she replied with some calmness, for Godfrey's decision had enabled her to conquer herself, "except that baby is ill, and looks as if he would never get better, and it is like to break my heart.

Oh, he is such a darling, Cousin Godfrey!" "Let me see him," said Godfrey, in his heart detesting the child--the visible sign that another was nearer to Letty than he.
She jumped up, almost ran into the next room, and, coming back with her little one, laid him in Godfrey's arms.

The moment he felt the weight of the little, sad-looking, sleeping thing, he grew human toward him, and saw in him Letty and not Tom.
"Good God! the child is starving, too," he exclaimed.
"Oh, no, Cousin Godfrey!" cried Letty; "he is not starving.

He had a fresh-laid egg for breakfast this morning, and some arrowroot for dinner, and some bread and milk for tea--" "London milk!" said Godfrey.
"Well, it is not like the milk in the dairy at Thornwick," admitted Letty.