of the woman Strawberry, or the helpless situation of the
unfortunate girl, he had struck her repeatedly; and the violent passion
into which his brutal unkindness had hurried his victim produced
premature confinement, followed by the death of her child, a fine little
boy.

Godfrey was absent when all this occurred; and though the day was pretty
far advanced, he had not as yet returned.

As to William Mathews, he wished that death had removed both mother and
child, as he found Mary too untractable to be of any use to him.

"My child! my child!" sobbed Mary. "What have you done with him? where
have you put him? Oh! for the love of Heaven, Mrs. Strawberry, let me
look at my child!"

"Hold your peace, you foolish young creature! What do you want with the
corpse? You had better lie still, and be quiet, or we may chance to bury
you both in the same grave."

"Oh!" sighed the girl, burying her face in the pillow, and giving way to
a fresh gush of tears, "that's too good to happen. The wretched never
die; the lost, like me, are never found. The wicked are denied the rest,
the deep rest of the grave. Oh, my child! my blessed child! Let me but
look upon my own flesh and blood, let me baptize the unbaptized with my
tears, and I shall feel this horrible load removed from my heart."

"It was a sad thing that it died, before it got the sign of the cross,"
said the godless old woman. "Sich babes, I've heard the priest say,
never see the light o' God's countenance; but the blackness of darkness
abides on them for ever. Howsomever, these kind o' childer never come to
no good, whether they live or die. Young giddy creatures should think o'
that before they run into sin, and bring upon themselves trouble and
confusion. I was exposed to great temptation in my day; but I never
disgraced myself by the like o' that."

"Oh, you were very good, I dare say," said Mary, coaxingly; "and I will
think you the best and kindest woman that ever lived, if you will but
let me see the poor babe."

"What good will it do you to see it? it will only make you fret. You
ought to thank God that it is gone. It was a mercy you had no right to
expect. You are now just as good as ever you were. You can go into a
gentleman's service, and hold up your head with the best of them. I
would not stay here, if I were you, to be kicked and ordered about by
that wicked brother of yours, nor wait, like a slave, upon this Mr.
Godfrey. What is he now? not a bit better t