Months passed; and on the day when the convict ship, with its freight of heavy hearts, began its silent course over the greatwaters, the widowed wife took her fatherless child by the hand, and again traversed the weary road which led them to their desolated home.

The kindness of the Grays had supplied a few immediate necessaries.  Some one had told her of women having, by the aid of friends, managed to meet their husbands once more in those distant parts of the earth; and this knowledge once in her agitated mind, raised a hope which inspired her to pursue her daily task without fainting, and to watch an opportunity of making an attempt which she had meditated, even during that dreadful day of Martin’s trial.  She resolved to seek admission into Sir George Roberts’ mansion, and appeal to the pity of his wife.  It was told in the village that Lady Roberts had implored her husband to interpose in behalf of the men; that his angry and passionate refusal had caused a breach between them; that they had lived unhappily ever since; that he had strictly forbidden any one to mention the subject, or to convey to Lady Roberts any remarks that were made in the neighborhood.

Susan Harvey trembled when she entered the mansion, and timidly asked leave to speak to Lady Roberts.

The servant she addressed had known her husband, and pitied her distress; and, fearing lest Sir George might pass, he led her into his pantry, watching an opportunity to let the lady know of her being there.

After a time Lady Roberts’ maid came, and beckoned her to follow up-stairs.  In a few moments the soft voice of the lady of the mansion was cheering her with kind words, and encouraging her to disclose her wishes.

Before she had concluded, a step was heard without, at which the lady started and turned pale.  Before there was time for retreat Sir George hastily entered the apartment.

“Who have you here, Lady Roberts?”

“One who has a request to make, I believe,” said the lady, mildly.  “I wish a few moments with her.”

“Have the goodness to walk out of this house,” said the baronet to Susan.  “Lady Roberts, I know this woman and I will not allow you to harbor such people here.”

Although the convict’s wife never again ventured into that house, her wants, and those of her child, were, during three years, ministered to by the secret agency of the Good Heart that lived so sadly there; and when, at the expiration of that period, Lady Roberts died, a trusty messenger brought to the cottage a little legacy—­sufficient, if ever news came of Martin, to enable the wife and child, from whom he was separated, to make their way across the earth, and to meet him again.

But during those weary years no tidings of his fate had reached either his wife or Alfred Gray—­to whom he had promised to write when he reached his destination.  Another year dragged its slow course over the home of affliction, and poor Susan’s hopes grew fainter day by day.  Her sinking frame gave evidence of the sickness that cometh from the heart.