In the evening I called to see the mother; she was lying on a miserable couch in a low lodging-house in the Quebec suburbs, yet she had about her the air of a lady, and on her finger glittered a ring set with brilliants. She wept when I told her how her child was disposed of, but said that she had no other alternative, as if her father, who was a lawyer of eminence, had any idea of her predicament, he would cast her off in shame; that when she first discovered her condition she persuaded her paramour to make a formal proposal for her hand, but her father was enraged beyond measure, and threatened her so terribly that she, for a time at least, put away all thoughts of Ferguson from her mind, and had not quite decided how to act, when the occurrence took place which led to the visit aforementioned, and caused the necessity for my attendance. Miss L---- had barely time to call in a carriage at Ferguson’s office, and apprise him of her condition, when she was taken ill, and obliged to procure a lodging with all speed. Ferguson selected the wretched hovel alluded to, as being away from all chance of discovery by his or her friends, and after my visit, empowered me to engage a nurse, and make what other arrangements I could for Miss L----‘s comfort. She managed to get a confidential friend to telegraph her father from Quebec that she had arrived in that city, and then sent on a letter and had it mailed there, stating that she had gone on the steamboat the previous evening to see some friends off, and, remaining too long on board, was taken away eastward, but would return on receiving the passage money from Montreal. With this story she managed to deceive her otherwise astute father, and in four days she actually got up and went to her own home in a carriage; insisting on retiring immediately to her room in consequence of the nervous excitement and fatigue she had undergone. The nurse I had engaged to attend her, she on some pretence or another smuggled into the house as a domestic servant, and so not only managed to have an attendant, but to keep up a clandestine communication with Ferguson and the outer world. In the frantic hope of acquiring a rapid fortune, Ferguson migrated to New Orleans, but just then the American war broke out, and he was pressed into the service. Whether he was killed or not Miss L----never found out; his letters became gradually less frequent, till finally she lost all trace of him whatever, and she eventually married a wholesale merchant of this city, who is to this day probably unaware of this little episode in his wife’s former career. Sometimes I see her in her carriage driving with liveried servants along St. James street, and I cannot refrain from thinking of the innocent babe as it lay in poor Ferguson’s coat-tail. CHAPTER II. A Just Retribution.