Mary Cuthbert awoke early; and, perceiving that it was a very fine morning, she determined to indulge herself with a walk, being assured that she should not be liable to meet any of the inmates of the Villa, unless it was Mr. Germ; and she guessed that even the philosopher would be more inclined to seek sleep than snails, after his nocturnal rambles. Mary strolled round the park, and was delighted with a lovely and richly variegated prospect. She seemed borne out of herself, and her own concerns, whilst wandering over these new and luxurious scenes; and whilst lifting up her heart, in gratitude and praise, to the Fountain and Giver of all Good, her spirits seemed strengthened and exhilarated.

Following as fancy led, she got beyond the precincts of the park, and found herself on the verge of a common, skirted by a wood. A neat little cottage was in sight; she walked towards it; and when she had reached it, her curiosity was greatly attracted, at seeing a very lovely young woman standing at the door, and holding an infant in her arms, apparently in great distress, as her tears, and the agitation with which she continually folded the innocent to her bosom, plainly bespoke.

Ever ready to sympathise with the unfortunate, Mary gently inquired what was the matter? The young woman started at hearing the voice of a stranger; having been too much occupied in her own reflections to perceive her approach. ‘Is it possible for me to be of any assistance to you?’ asked Mary. Her soft voice spoke to the heart; the tears of the young woman could no longer be restrained; they forced their way in torrents down her pallid cheeks.