door of his dear Rebecca--for so very
happy Henry felt at the good luck which had befallen him, that he longed
to bestow a part of the blessing upon her he loved.

He sent for her privately out of the house to speak to him. When she
came, "Rebecca," said he (looking around that no one observed him),
"Rebecca, I have brought you something you will like."

"What is it?" she asked.

"You know, Rebecca, that you love deserted birds, strayed kittens, and
motherless lambs. I have brought something more pitiable than any of
these. Go, get a cap and a little gown, and then I will give it you."

"A gown!" exclaimed Rebecca. "If you have brought me a monkey, much as I
should esteem any present from _you_, indeed I cannot touch it."

"A monkey!" repeated Henry, almost in anger: then changing the tone of
his voice, exclaimed in triumph,

"It is a child!"

On this he gave it a gentle pinch, that its cry might confirm the
pleasing truth he spoke.

"A child!" repeated Rebecca in amaze.

"Yes, and indeed I found it."

"Found it!"

"Indeed I did. The mother, I fear, had just forsaken it."

"Inhuman creature!"

"Nay, hold, Rebecca! I am sure you will pity her when you see her
child--you then will know she must have loved it--and you will consider
how much she certainly had suffered before she left it to perish in a
wood."

"Cruel!" once more exclaimed Rebecca.

"Oh! Rebecca, perhaps, had she possessed a home of her own she would
have given it the best place in it; had she possessed money, she would
have dressed it with the nicest care; or had she been accustomed to
disgrace, she would have gloried in calling it hers! But now, as it is,
it is sent to us--to you and me, Rebecca--to take care of."

Rebecca, soothed by Henry's compassionate eloquence, held out her arms
and received the important parcel; and, as she kindly looked in upon the
little stranger,

"Now, are not you much obliged to me," said Henry, "for having brought it
to you? I know no one but yourself to whom I would have trusted it with
pleasure."

"Much obliged to you," repeated Rebecca, with a very serious face, "if I
did but know what to do with it--where to put it--where to hide it from
my father and sisters."

"Oh! anywhere," returned Henry. "It is very good--it will not cry.
Besides, in one of the distant, unfrequented rooms of your old abbey,
through the thick walls and long gallery, an infant's cry cannot pass.
Yet, pray be cautious