been cautioned not to speak
too freely to her; but the caution was needless, her countenance would
still more emphatically have made her shrink back. Such was the ferocity
of manner, conspicuous in every word and gesture of this hag, that Maria
was afraid to enquire, why Jemima, who had faithfully promised to see her
before her door was shut for the night, came not?--and, when the key
turned in the lock, to consign her to a night of suspence, she felt a
degree of anguish which the circumstances scarcely justified.

Continually on the watch, the shutting of a door, or the sound of a
footstep, made her start and tremble with apprehension, something like
what she felt, when, at her entrance, dragged along the gallery, she
began to doubt whether she were not surrounded by demons?

Fatigued by an endless rotation of thought and wild alarms, she looked
like a spectre, when Jemima entered in the morning; especially as her
eyes darted out of her head, to read in Jemima's countenance, almost as
pallid, the intelligence she dared not trust her tongue to demand. Jemima
put down the tea-things, and appeared very busy in arranging the table.
Maria took up a cup with trembling hand, then forcibly recovering her
fortitude, and restraining the convulsive movement which agitated the
muscles of her mouth, she said, "Spare yourself the pain of preparing me
for your information, I adjure you!--My child is dead!" Jemima solemnly
answered, "Yes;" with a look expressive of compassion and angry emotions.
"Leave me," added Maria, making a fresh effort to govern her feelings,
and hiding her face in her handkerchief, to conceal her anguish--"It is
enough--I know that my babe is no more--I will hear the particulars when
I am"--_calmer_, she could not utter; and Jemima, without importuning her
by idle attempts to console her, left the room.

Plunged in the deepest melancholy, she would not admit Darnford's visits;
and such is the force of early associations even on strong minds, that,
for a while, she indulged the superstitious notion that she was justly
punished by the death of her child, for having for an instant ceased to
regret her loss. Two or three letters from Darnford, full of soothing,
manly tenderness, only added poignancy to these accusing emotions; yet
the passionate style in which he expressed, what he termed the first and
fondest wish of his heart, "that his affection might make her some amends
for the cruelty and injustice she had