Page 170 - bleak-house

itself had been composed afresh, and washed, and neatly
dressed in some fragments of white linen; and on my hand-
kerchief, which still covered the poor baby, a little bunch of
sweet herbs had been laid by the same rough, scarred hands,
so lightly, so tenderly!
‘May heaven reward you!’ we said to her. ‘You are a good
woman.’
‘Me, young ladies?’ she returned with surprise. ‘Hush!
Jenny, Jenny!’
The mother had moaned in her sleep and moved. The
sound of the familiar voice seemed to calm her again. She
was quiet once more.
How little I thought, when I raised my handkerchief to
look upon the tiny sleeper underneath and seemed to see a
halo shine around the child through Ada’s drooping hair
as her pity bent her head— how little I thought in whose
unquiet bosom that handkerchief would come to lie after
covering the motionless and peaceful breast! I only thought
that perhaps the Angel of the child might not be all uncon-
scious of the woman who replaced it with so compassionate
a hand; not all unconscious of her presently, when we had
taken leave, and left her at the door, by turns looking, and
listening in terror for herself, and saying in her old soothing
manner, ‘Jenny, Jenny!’

170 Bleak House