But Alice, though her blood ran cold at her terrible father's language, saw in his very design the prospect of escape. In an hour of drunkenness he thrust her from the house, and stationed himself to watch her--it was in the city of Cork. She formed her resolution instantly--turned up a narrow street, and fled at full speed. Darvil endeavoured in vain to keep pace with her--his eyes dizzy, his steps reeling with intoxication. She heard his last curse dying from a distance on the air, and her fear winged her steps: she paused at last, and found herself on the outskirts of the town. She paused, overcome, and deadly faint; and then, for the first time, she felt that a strange and new life was stirring within her own. She had long since known that she bore in her womb the unborn offspring of Maltravers, and that knowledge had made her struggle and live on. But now, the embryo had quickened into being--it moved--it appealed to her, a--thing unseen, unknown; but still it was a living creature appealing to a mother! Oh, the thrill, half of ineffable tenderness, half of mysterious terror, at that moment!--What a new chapter in the life of a woman did it not announce:--Now, then, she must be watchful over herself--must guard against fatigue--must wrestle with despair. Solemn was the trust committed to her--the life of another--the child of the Adored. It was a summer night--she sat on a rude stone, the city on one side, with its lights and lamps;--the whitened fields beyond, with the moon and the stars above; and /above/ she raised her streaming eyes, and she thought that God, the Protector, smiled upon her from the face of the sweet skies. So, after a pause and a silent prayer, she rose and resumed her way. When she was wearied she crept into a shed in a farmyard, and slept, for the first time for weeks, the calm sleep of security and hope.
CHAPTER III.
"How like a prodigal doth she return, With over-weathered ribs and ragged sails." /Merchant of Venice/.
"/Mer./ What are these? /Uncle./ The tenants." BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.--/Wit without Money/.
IT was just two years from the night in which Alice had been torn from the cottage: and at that time Maltravers was wandering amongst the ruins of ancient Egypt, when, upon the very lawn where Alice and her lover had so often loitered hand in hand, a gay party of children and young people were assembled. The cottage had been purchased by an opulent and retired manufacturer. He had raised the low thatched roof another story high--and blue slate had replaced the thatch--and the pretty verandahs overgrown with creepers had been taken down because Mrs. Hobbs thought they gave the rooms a dull look; and the little rustic doorway had been replaced by four Ionic pillars in stucco; and a new dining-room, twenty-two feet by eighteen, had been built out at one wing, and a new drawing-room had been built over the new dining-room. And the poor little cottage looked quite grand and villa-like. The fountain had been taken away, because it made the house damp; and there was such a broad carriage-drive from the gate to the house! The gate was no longer the modest green wooden gate, ever ajar with its easy latch; but a tall, cast-iron, well-locked gate, between two pillars to match the porch. And on one of the gates was a brass plate, on which was graven, "Hobbs' Lodge--Ring the bell." The lesser Hobbses and the bigger Hobbses were all on the lawn--many of them fresh from school--for it was the half-holiday of a Saturday afternoon. There was mirth, and noise, and shouting and whooping, and the respectable old couple looked calmly on; Hobbs the father smoking his pipe (alas, it was not the dear meerschaum); Hobbs the mother talking to her eldest daughter (a fine young woman, three months married, for love, to a poor man), upon the proper number of days that a leg of mutton (weight ten pounds) should be made to last. "Always, my dear, have large joints, they are much the most saving. Let me see--what a noise the boys do make! No, my love, the ball's not here."
"Mamma, it is under your petticoats."
"La, child, how naughty you are!"
"Holla, you sir! it's my turn to go in now. Biddy, wait,--girls have no innings--girls only fag out."
"Bob, you cheat."
"Pa, Ned says I cheat."
"Very likely, my dear, you are to be a lawyer."
"Where was I, my dear?" resumed Mrs. Hobbs, resettling herself, and readjusting the invaded petticoats. "Oh, about the leg of mutton!--yes, large joints are the best--the second day a nice hash, with dumplings; the third, broil the bone--your husband is sure to like broiled bones!--and then keep the scraps for Saturday's pie;--you know, my dear, your father and I were worse off than you when we began. But now we have everything that is handsome about us--nothing like management. Saturday pies are very nice things, and then you start clear with your joint on Sunday. A good wife like you should never neglect the Saturday's pie!"
"Yes," said the bride, mournfully; "but Mr.