Soon after her letter had been sent, she and Rosamond had taken a longer walk one evening than usual, and, eager in conversation, went on so far in this wild unfrequented part of the country, that when they saw the sun setting, they began to fear they should not reach home before it was dark. They wished to find a shorter way than that by which they went, and they looked about in hopes of seeing some labourer (some _swinked hedger_) returning from his work, or a cottage where they could meet with a guide.--But there was no person or house within sight. At last Caroline, who had climbed upon a high bank in the lane where they were walking, saw a smoke rising between some trees at a little distance; and toward this spot they made their way through another lane, the entrance to which had been stopped up with furze bushes. They soon came within sight of a poor-looking cottage, and saw a young woman walking very slowly with a child in her arms. She was going towards the house, and did not perceive the young ladies till they were close to her. She turned suddenly when they spoke--started--looked frightened and confused; the infant began to cry, and hushing it as well as she could, she answered to their questions with a bewildered look, “I don’t know indeed--I can’t tell--I don’t know any thing, ladies--ask at the cottage, yonder.” Then she quickened her pace, and walked so fast to the house, that they could hardly keep up with her. She pushed open the hatch door, and called “Dorothy! Dorothy, come out.” But no Dorothy answered.--The young woman seemed at a loss what to do; and as she stood hesitating, her face, which had at first appeared pale and emaciated, flushed up to her temples. She looked very handsome, but in ill-health. “Be pleased, ladies,” said she, with diffidence, and trembling from head to foot, “be pleased to sit down and rest, ladies. One will be in directly who knows the ways--I am a stranger in these parts.” As soon as she had set the chairs, she was retiring to an inner room, but her child, who was pleased with Caroline’s face as she smiled and nodded at him, stretched out his little hands towards her. “Oh! let my sister give him a kiss,” said Rosamond. The mother stopped, yet appeared unwilling. The child patted Caroline’s cheek, played with her hair, and laughed aloud. Caroline offered to take the child in her arms, but the mother held him fast, and escaped into the inner room, where they heard her sobbing violently. Caroline and Rosamond looked at one another in silence, and left the cottage by tacit consent, sorry that they had given pain, and feeling that they had no right to intrude further. “We can go home the same way that we came,” said Caroline, “and that is better than to trouble any body.” “Certainly,” said Rosamond: “yet I should like to know something more about this poor woman if I could, without--If we happened to meet Dorothy, whoever she is.”