Two months had passed since she left the alms-house, and still she could gain no tidings of her children.  Daily, for an hour or two, had she made search for them, but in the only way she could devise, that of wandering about the streets, in hopes of finding them out on some errand.  As the winter drew on, she became more and more anxious and concerned.  If her little girl, who was always a delicate child, should be in unkind hands, she sickened at heart to think how much she would suffer.  Night after night would she dream of the dear child; and always saw her in some condition of extreme hardship.

One night she thought she saw little Mary sitting on the curb-stone.  She went up to her, and dreaming that it was very cold, found her bare-foot, thinly clad, and almost perishing.  The child threw her little arms, naked and icy cold about her neck, and as her well-known voice sounded in her ears, she awoke.

She slept no more through that night, and soon after breakfast, started out, being unable, through the uneasiness of her mind, to work.  Without questioning the reason why, she naturally wandered in the direction indicated in her dream.  When near the place, she was startled by the piercing screams of a child that seemed in great agony, and there was entreaty and supplication mingled in the tones.  The voice was like the voice of her own child.  She knew it was her own child; a mother’s ear is never deceived.  Darting towards the spot, she found a bucket of hot water spilled upon the pavement, from which the vapour was rising in a cloud, and glancing her eye down the alley, she saw her little one half-dragged, half-carried, by the arm, by a tall, masculine woman, who seemed in a violent rage.  Following like the wind, she reached the dwelling of the virago as she entered and dashed the child upon the floor.  Just as Mrs. Warburton came up, and was lifting it, the woman had obtained a stout cow-hide, and was turning to lacerate the back of the little one, as she had often done before, her face red and expressing the most wicked passions.

At once Mrs. Warburton felt that only in retreat was their safety, and catching up the child in her arms, she darted out as quickly as she had entered.  Not more swiftly, however, did she go, than followed the enraged woman to whom this child of nine years old had been bound to do the work of a woman.  Finding herself gained upon by the person in pursuit, she looked about for a place of retreat, and seeing “Magistrate’s Office” on a sign, she darted into that lower court of justice.  Here she was safe from molestation, until some decision was made in the case, by those deputed to act.  A crowd soon gathered about, attracted by the strange sight of a woman flying with a child in her arms, and another in hot pursuit.  The magistrate, who was a humane man, and held his office in a part of his dwelling, instinctively perceived that the mother and her child needed kindness and consideration, and had them, after examination, removed back into his dwelling, and placed under the care of his wife, while he entered more fully into the merits of the case.