The night before this event took place, violent words had arisen between Mary and her brother.  The ruffian was partially intoxicated, and urged on by the infuriated spirit of intemperance, regardless of the entreaties 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 than one of us.  Not a shilling has he to bless himself with, and I am sure he does not care one farthing for you, and will be glad that the child is off his hands.”

“Oh, he loves me; indeed, indeed, he loves me and the child.  Oh, he will grieve for the child.  Mrs. Strawberry, if ever you were a mother yourself, have pity upon me, and show me the baby.”