He thought her lifeless, and raising her from the ground, bore her home, while a heavier burden at his heart kept his eyes blinded, his steps slow, and his walk uneven.

When the physician arrived, he saw, at a glance, that some great trouble rested, like a dense cloud, on the girl’s mind.  Her restless manner and desire to remain silent, showed plainly that some great anguish was working its sorrow within, and silently he prayed to heaven, that the young heart might find that relief which no art or skill of his could impart.  He could only allay the fever into which her blood was thrown, and as he went out, left his orders, saying, he would call again on the morrow.

“She’s as well able to work as I am, this blessed minit,” impetuously exclaimed Mrs. Thorne, who could ill brook the state of affairs.

“If looks tell anything, her pale face aint no match for yourn in health, Huldah,” remarked Caleb, as he glanced somewhat reproachingly at the full, red features of his wife.

“A white face aint allus a sign of sickness; here I might be next to death, and my face be getting redder and redder at every pain,—­but then who cares for me?  No one, as I knows on.”

She turned and found she might have left her last words unspoken, for Caleb had gone to milk the cows, and she was alone.

It was no sudden thought.  Every hour since the day they found her in the woods insensible, she had busily matured her plans.  Those words,—­“You can never be my wife,” made life to her of no moment, save to find a spot of obscurity in which to conceal her shame, and spare her old father the grief she knew it must bring him.

She must leave her home, none but strangers must know of her sorrow; and when health returned and she went about her daily toils, a short time prior to the crisis of her grief, she deeply thought upon where she might turn her weary steps.  She had heard of a factory in N—­, a town twenty miles distant, where girls earned a great deal of money.  She would go there and work until-O, the pain, the anguish of her heart, as the terrible truth came close and closer every day upon her.  And then she would go.  Where?  No mother’s love to help her, no right granted her to bring another life into being.  How keenly upbraiding came to her at that moment the great truth, a truth which cannot be too deeply impressed upon every human mind, that no child should be ushered into this world without due preparation on the part of its parents for its mental, moral and physical well-being.  Let pity drop a tear, for sad indeed was her lot.

One day she gathered what little clothing she possessed, and made up a small parcel preparatory to her departure, and as her only time of escape would be in the night, she carefully concealed it, and went about her work in her usual, silent manner.