[The History of Samuel Titmarsh by William Makepeace Thackeray]@TWC D-Link book
The History of Samuel Titmarsh

CHAPTER XII
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For some time she did not speak, but looked as pale as death, and wept as she kissed me.

"_You_ speak, Mr.
Augustus," at last said she, sobbing; and so Gus told me the circumstances of that dismal day.
"What do you think, Sam ?" says he; "that infernal aunt of yours, at whose command you had the things, has written to the tradesmen to say that you are a swindler and impostor; that you give out that _she_ ordered the goods; that she is ready to drop down dead, and to take her bible-oath she never did any such thing, and that they must look to you alone for payment.

Not one of them would hear of letting you out; and as for Mantalini, the scoundrel was so insolent that I gave him a box on the ear, and would have half-killed him, only poor Mary--Mrs.Titmarsh I mean--screamed and fainted: and I brought her away, and here she is, as ill as can be." That night, the indefatigable Gus was obliged to run post-haste for Doctor Salts, and next morning a little boy was born.

I did not know whether to be sad or happy, as they showed me the little weakly thing; but Mary was the happiest woman, she declared, in the world, and forgot all her sorrows in nursing the poor baby; she went bravely through her time, and vowed that it was the loveliest child in the world; and that though Lady Tiptoff, whose confinement we read of as having taken place the same day, might have a silk bed and a fine house in Grosvenor Square, she never never could have such a beautiful child as our dear little Gus: for after whom should we have named the boy, if not after our good kind friend?
We had a little party at the christening, and I assure you were very merry over our tea.
The mother, thank Heaven! was very well, and it did one's heart good to see her in that attitude in which I think every woman, be she ever so plain, looks beautiful--with her baby at her bosom.

The child was sickly, but she did not see it; we were very poor, but what cared she?
She had no leisure to be sorrowful as I was: I had my last guinea now in my pocket; and when _that_ was gone--ah! my heart sickened to think of what was to come, and I prayed for strength and guidance, and in the midst of my perplexities felt yet thankful that the danger of the confinement was over; and that for the worst fortune which was to befall us, my dear wife was at least prepared, and strong in health.
I told Mrs.Stokes that she must let us have a cheaper room--a garret that should cost but a few shillings; and though the good woman bade me remain in the apartments we occupied, yet, now that my wife was well, I felt it would be a crime to deprive my kind landlady of her chief means of livelihood; and at length she promised to get me a garret as I wanted, and to make it as comfortable as might be; and little Jemima declared that she would be glad beyond measure to wait on the mother and the child.
The room, then, was made ready; and though I took some pains not to speak of the arrangement too suddenly to Mary, yet there was no need of disguise or hesitation; for when at last I told her--"Is that all ?" said she, and took my hand with one of her blessed smiles, and vowed that she and Jemima would keep the room as pretty and neat as possible.


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