"Alas, for the wicked!" said Mary. "'Destruction and misery are in their
paths, and the way of peace they have not known.' How long have I, in
word, thought and deed, blasphemed the majesty of the Most High, and
rebelled against his holy laws! Ought I then to condemn my fellows in
iniquity? Am I in reality any better than they? I will go to the grave
of my child--that sight will make me humble--that little mound of dark
earth holds all that the world now contains for me."
She dropped from the window to the ground. The watch-dog knew her and
forbore to bark. He thrust his cold nose into her wasted hand, and
wagging his tail looked up inquiringly into her face. There was
something of human sympathy in the expression of the generous brute. It
went to the heart of the poor wanderer. She leant down and kissed the
black head of the noble animal. A big bright tear glittered among his
shaggy hair, and the moonbeams welcomed it with an approving smile.
Like a ghost Mary glided down the garden path, overgrown with rank
weeds, and she thought that the neglected garden greatly resembled the
state of her soul. A few necessary wants had alone been attended to. The
flower-beds were overgrown and choked with weeds--the fruit-trees barren
from neglect and covered with moss. "But He can make the desolate place
into a fruitful field," said Mary.
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