This species of feeling now glowed in full vigour in the bosoms of the two sisters, and of Mary Waldron. Mary had met with sympathizing friends when she most wanted them; and the Miss Mowbrays found the interest, which had been excited by witnessing her grief, increased to a ten-fold degree by this unexpected recognition. They pressed her to accompany them to their father's lodging house. The child, however, which she had left at home under the care of a neighbour, made this impossible. They therefore turned back, and walked slowly with her towards Folkestone, Caroline Mowbray having relieved her, by taking the child out of her arms. During their walk, Mary told them, that nine years before she had accompanied her mistress to Hastings. They passed the winter there, and during that time, she became acquainted with James Waldron, who frequently came to the house with fish. Every body spoke well of him, as a sober, industrious, good-tempered man; and she became his wife when Mrs. Stanwick returned into Hertfordshire. For about six years they lived happily together at Hastings; they then removed to Folkestone, where a small house had been left to Waldron by a relation. Here he continued for some time to follow his old occupation, but unhappily became acquainted with some notorious smugglers, and was persuaded occasionally to accompany them in their expeditions to the French coast. He was led on step by step, till smuggling had become his principal employment. "From the time that he took to the smuggling line," continued poor Mary, "my happiness has been at an end. He used to be the kindest of husbands and of fathers. Now he is seldom at home, and when he is, is generally out of temper. Now and then he will play with his children a little, but more frequently complains of their being troublesome. He used to be sobriety itself, but latterly has taken to drinking spirits. His very countenance is changed; it used to be frank and open, but now is apt to have a downcast anxious look, like that of a man who has some sad burden on his mind. And oh! how many fears do I have for him! Sometimes, I think he will be lost at sea, for they are out in all weathers; and sometimes I tremble lest he should be taken on shore, or that to prevent himself from being taken, he should do some dreadful deed that should bring him to the gallows." "I now too well understand," said Emily Mowbray, "what you meant by what you said to us at Mrs. Hawker's."