"It is not because it hurts me," little Rawdon gasped out--"only--only"--sobs and tears wound up the sentence in a storm. It was the little boy's heart that was bleeding. "Why mayn't I hear her singing? Why don't she ever sing to me--as she does to that baldheaded man with the large teeth?" He gasped out at various intervals these exclamations of rage and grief. The cook looked at the housemaid, the housemaid looked knowingly at the footman--the awful kitchen inquisition which sits in judgement in every house and knows everything--sat on Rebecca at that moment.
After this incident, the mother's dislike increased to hatred; the consciousness that the child was in the house was a reproach and a pain to her. His very sight annoyed her. Fear, doubt, and resistance sprang up, too, in the boy's own bosom. They were separated from that day of the boxes on the ear.

"It is not because it hurts me," little Rawdon gasped out - "only- only-" He ended in a storm of sobs. It was the little boy's heart that was bleeding. "Why mayn't I hear her singing? Why don't she ever sing to me - as she does to that bald man with the large teeth?"
The cook looked at the housemaid; the housemaid looked knowingly at the footman. The awful kitchen inquisition which sits in judgement in every house sat in judgement on Rebecca at that moment.
After this incident, the mother's dislike increased to hatred; the very sight of the boy was a reproach and an annoyance to her. Fear and doubt sprang up, too, in the boy's bosom. They were separated from that day.
