red the least complaint,
but secretly blessed God that the babe was dead. She had lived to hear
the father of that child, for whose sake she had borne the contempt of
her neighbors, the reproaches of conscience, and the fears of eternal
punishment, rejoice in the death of his first-born; and without a tear
or sigh, wish that she might share the same grave. Could such things be?
Alas! they happen every day, and are the sure reward of guilt.

"My poor Mary," said the hypocrite. "You have suffered a good deal for
my sake; but do not cry. God knew best when he took the child from us.
It is painful for us to part with him, but depend upon it, he is much
better off where he is."

"I know it now," said the young mother. "Yes, Godfrey Hurdlestone, he is
better off where he is; and for some wise end, God has spared my
worthless life. Is that you, William? The murderer of my child has no
business here."

"Mary, it was the drink. I did not mean to hurt either you or the child;
so shake hands, and say that you forgive me."

He leant over the bed and held out his hand. Mary put it contemptuously
aside. "Never," she said firmly; "neither in this world, nor in the
world to come."

"Do you know what you say?" said Mathews, bending over the pillow and
doubling his fist in his sister's face, whilst his dark grey eyes
emitted a deadly light.

"I am in my senses," returned Mary, with a bitter laugh, "although you
have done your best to drive me mad. You need not stamp your foot, nor
frown, nor glare upon me like a beast of prey. I defy your malice. What
I said I will again repeat; and may my curse and the curse of an
offended God cleave to you for ever!"

"I will murder you for those words!" said the fiend, grinding his teeth.

"Death is no punishment. Threaten me, William, with something that I
fear. I am helpless, now, but I shall soon be strong and well, and my
arm may be a match for the feeble drunkard--the cowardly destroyer of
women and children."

"Unhand me, Godfrey Hurdlestone!" roared out the villain, struggling in
the powerful grasp of his colleague in guilt. "For by all the fiends of
hell! she shall answer for those words!"

"Hold, Mathews! You are mad! I will stab you to the heart if you attempt
to touch her."

He spoke to the winds, for throwing him back to the wall, Mathews seized
the knife from his hand, and sprang upon his intended victim. Rising
slowly up in the bed, with an air of calm solemn grandeur, she