Mr. Hazlehurst’s progress towards recovery was so satisfactory that Alice, when the carriage arrived to fetch her home, felt not the smallest scruple in leaving him. As Harry considered the distance between the Grange and Coverdale Park too great for his carriage-horses to perform twice in one day, the equipage had been dispatched the previous evening, and the servants were consequently unacquainted with the events of the past night. Having taken leave of her mother--who, roused by the necessity of becoming a nurse instead of a patient, appeared rather benefited than otherwise by the unusual demand upon her energies--and of Emily, now fast developing into a very pretty girl, Alice started on her return home, and accomplished the greater portion of the transit without let or hindrance. When within about five miles of the Park, however, one of the horses was discovered to have cast a shoe; and as it would have been worth more than his situation to have taken it farther in so defenceless a condition, the coachman drew up at a village blacksmith’s, where the evil might be remedied. Under these circumstances, Alice determined to walk on till the carriage should overtake her, which, as the morning was fine, she considered the reverse of a hardship. Pondering many things--for Alice was no longer the careless, light-hearted girl we once described her--she trudged on, at first briskly, then more leisurely, as the road began to ascend, until she might have proceeded some two miles; and yet the carriage did not make its appearance. Toiling up hill, attired as ladies usually are from November to April, with an amount of merino, velvet, and fur, which might defy the severities of a Siberian winter, and is clearly _de trop_ under the influence of a sunshiny morning in March, not unnaturally rendered Alice hot and tired; and fancying, from her imperfect knowledge of the locality, that she must be upon her husband’s territory, she determined to make acquaintance with the inmates of a cottage which she perceived by the roadside a short distance higher up the hill, and, with their permission, to rest herself until the carriage should arrive. With this intention she approached the cottage, and finding the door closed, rapped at it with first her knuckles, then the handle of a most frivolous and ephemeral little parasol; but neither of these applications producing the desired effect, she, like little Red Riding-hood, raised the latch and opened the door. The sight which met her eyes was one calculated alike to stimulate her curiosity and interest her sympathies. In a cradle, on the opposite side of the room, lay an unconscious and remarkably pretty and comfortable-looking baby fast asleep, while near it, with the light from the casement streaming full upon her smooth dark hair, only partially concealed beneath her neat white cap, sat the young mother, her face hidden in her hands, weeping bitterly. Starting at the sound of the opening door, she removed