d, I could not bear the mention of her murdering
the poor girl, and it put me so beside myself, that I rose up in a rage,
and bade her get out of my sight, and out of my house; told her I had
kept her too long, and that I would never see her face more. I had
before told her that she was a murderer, and a bloody-minded creature;
that she could not but know that I could not bear the thought of it,
much less the mention of it; and that it was the impudentest thing that
ever was known to make such a proposal to me, when she knew that I was
really the mother of this girl, and that she was my own child; that it
was wicked enough in her, but that she must conclude I was ten times
wickeder than herself if I could come into it; that the girl was in the
right, and I had nothing to blame her for; but that it was owing to the
wickedness of my life that made it necessary for me to keep her from a
discovery; but that I would not murder my child, though I was otherwise
to be ruined by it. Amy replied, somewhat rough and short, Would I not?
but she would, she said, if she had an opportunity; and upon these words
it was that I bade her get out of my sight and out of my house; and it
went so far that Amy packed up her alls, and marched off; and was gone
for almost good and all. But of that in its order; I must go back to her
relation of the voyage which they made to Greenwich together.

They held on the wrangle all the way by water; the girl insisted upon
her knowing that I was her mother, and told her all the history of my
life in the Pall Mall, as well after her being turned away as before,
and of my marriage since; and which was worse, not only who my present
husband was, but where he had lived, viz., at Rouen in France. She knew
nothing of Paris or of where we was going to live, namely, at Nimeguen;
but told her in so many words that if she could not find me here, she
would go to Holland after me.

They landed at Greenwich, and Amy carried her into the park with her,
and they walked above two hours there in the farthest and remotest
walks; which Amy did because, as they talked with great heat, it was
apparent they were quarrelling, and the people took notice of it.

They walked till they came almost to the wilderness at the south side
of the park; but the girl, perceiving Amy offered to go in there among
the woods and trees, stopped short there, and would go no further; but
said she would not go in there.

Amy smiled, and asked he