Samuel Butler, The Way of All Flesh: Ch. 38

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On returning this midsummer he was shocked to find his favourite looking pale and ill.  All her good spirits had left her, the roses had fled from her cheek, and she seemed on the point of going into a decline.  She said she was unhappy about her mother, whose health was failing, and was afraid she was herself not long for this world.  Christina, of course, noticed the change.  “I have often remarked,” she said, “that those very fresh-coloured, healthy-looking girls are the first to break up.  I have given her calomel and James’s powders repeatedly, and though she does not like it, I think I must show her to Dr Martin when he next comes here.”

“Very well, my dear,” said Theobald, and so next time Dr Martin came Ellen was sent for.  Dr Martin soon discovered what would probably have been apparent to Christina herself if she had been able to conceive of such an ailment in connection with a servant who lived under the same roof as Theobald and herself—the purity of whose married life should have preserved all unmarried people who came near them from any taint of mischief.

When it was discovered that in three or four months more Ellen would become a mother, Christina’s natural good nature would have prompted her to deal as leniently with the case as she could, if she had not been panic-stricken lest any mercy on her and Theobald’s part should be construed into toleration, however partial, of so great a sin; hereon she dashed off into the conviction that the only thing to do was to pay Ellen her wages, and pack her off on the instant bag and baggage out of the house which purity had more especially and particularly singled out for its abiding city.  When she thought of the fearful contamination which Ellen’s continued presence even for a week would occasion, she could not hesitate.

Then came the question—horrid thought!—as to who was the partner of Ellen’s guilt?  Was it, could it be, her own son, her darling Ernest?  Ernest was getting a big boy now.  She could excuse any young woman for taking a fancy to him; as for himself, why she was sure he was behind no young man of his age in appreciation of the charms of a nice-looking young woman.  So long as he was innocent she did not mind this, but oh, if he were guilty!

She could not bear to think of it, and yet it would be mere cowardice not to look such a matter in the face—her hope was in the Lord, and she was ready to bear cheerfully and make the best of any suffering He might think fit to lay upon her.  That the baby must be either a boy or girl—this much, at any rate, was clear.  No less clear was it that the child, if a boy, would resemble Theobald, and if a girl, herself.  Resemblance, whether of body or mind, generally leaped over a generation.  The guilt of the parents must not be shared by the innocent offspring of shame—oh! no—and such a child as this would be . . . She was off in one of her reveries at once.

The child was in the act of being consecrated Archbishop of Canterbury when Theobald came in from a visit in the parish, and was told of the shocking discovery.

Christina said nothing about Ernest, and I believe was more than half angry when the blame was laid upon other shoulders.  She was easily consoled, however, and fell back on the double reflection, firstly, that her son was pure, and secondly, that she was quite sure he would not have been so had it not been for his religious convictions which had held him back—as, of course, it was only to be expected they would.

Theobald agreed that no time must be lost in paying Ellen her wages and packing her off.  So this was done, and less than two hours after Dr Martin had entered the house Ellen was sitting beside John the coachman, with her face muffled up so that it could not be seen, weeping bitterly as she was being driven to the station.