The Fiery Trial

"THE amount of that bill, if you please, sir."

The man thus unceremoniously addressed, lifted his eyes from theledger, over which he had been bending for the last six hours, withscarcely the relaxation of a moment, and exhibited a pale, care-worncountenance--and, though still young, a head over which were thicklyscattered the silver tokens of age. A sad smile played over hisintelligent features, a smile meant to shake the sternness of theman who was troubling his peace, as he replied in a low, calmvoice--

"To-day, it will be impossible, sir."

"And how many times have you given me the same answer. I cannotwaste my time by calling day after day, for so paltry a sum."

A flush passed over the fine countenance of the man thus rudelyaddressed. But he replied in the same low tone, which now slightlytrembled:

"I would not ask you to call, sir, if I had the money But what Ihave not, I cannot give."

"And pray when will you have the money?" The man paused for sometime, evidently calculating the future, and after a long-drawn sigh,as if disappointed with the result, said:--

"It will be two or three months, before I can pay it and even then,it will depend on a contingency."

"Two or three months?--a contingency? It must come quicker and surerthan that, sir."

"That is the best I can say."

"But not the best I can do, I hope.--Good-morning." After thecollector had gone, the man bent his head down, until his facerested even upon the ponderous volume over which he had been poringfor hours. He thought, and thought, but thought brought no relief.The most he could earn was ten dollars a week, and for his children,two sweet babes, and for the comfort of a sick wife, he had toexpend the full sum of his wages. The debt for which he was nowtroubled, was a rent-bill of forty dollars, held against him by aman whose annual income was twenty thousand dollars. Finally, heconcluded to go and see Mr. Moneylove, and try to prevail upon himto stop any proceedings that the collector might institute againsthim. In the evening, he sought the dwelling of his rich creditor,and after being ushered into his splendid parlour, waited with atroubled heart for his appearance. Mr. Moneylove entered.

"How do you do, sir?"

"How do you do?" replied the debtor, in a low, troubled voice. Themanner of Mr. Moneylove changed, the moment he heard the peculiartone of his voice, although he did not know him. There was anappealing language in its cadence that whispered a warning to hisear, and he closed his heart on the instant.

"Well, sir," were his next words, "what is your will?"

"You hold a bill against me for rent."

"Well, sir, go to my agent."

"I have seen Mr.--."

"That will do, sir. He knows all about my business, and will arrangeto my entire satisfaction."

"But, sir, I cannot pay it now, and he threatens harsh measures."

"I have entire confidence in his judgment, sir, and am willing toleave all such matters to his discretion."

"I am in trouble, sir, and in poverty beside, for the demands on meare greater than I can meet."

"Your own fault, I suppose," retorted the landlord, with a sneer."That, any one might know, who took half a glance at you."

This remark caused the blood to mount suddenly to the face of theman.

"Let me be judged by what I am, not by what I have been," was themeek reply, after the troubled pause of a few moments. Then in amore decided tone of voice, he said:--

"Will you not interfere?"

"Will I? No! I never interfere with my agent. He gives me entiresatisfaction, and while he does so, I shall not interfere." And Mr.Moneylove smiled with self-satisfaction at the idea of his carefuland thrifty agent, and his own worldly policy.

The petitioner slowly left the house--murmuring to himself:"Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors." It was more thanan hour before he could compose his mind sufficiently to be able tomeet his wife with a countenance that was not too deeply shadowedwith care.

She was ill, and besides, under the pressure of many causes, wassuffering from a nervous lowness of spirits. Against thisdepression, her husband saw that she was striving with all themental energy she possessed, but striving almost in vain. To knowthat she even had cause for the exercise of such an internal power,was, to him, painful in the extreme; and he was bitter in hisself-reproaches for being the cause of suffering to one he lovedwith a pure and fervent love.

Turning, at last, resolutely towards his dwelling, and striving witha strong effort to keep down the troubles that were sweeping inrough waves over his spirit; it was not long before he set his footupon his own doorstone.

To give force to this scene, and to throw around what follows itstrue interest, it will be necessary to go back and sketch somethings in the history of the individual here introduced.

His name was Theodore Wilmer. In earlier years, he was clerk in thelarge mercantile house of Rensselaer, Wykoff & Co., in New York.Being a young man of intelligence, good address, and goodprinciples, he was much esteemed, and valued by his employers, whotook some pains to introduce him into society. In this way he wasbrought into contact with some of the first families in New York,and, in this way, he became acquainted with Constance Jackson, thedaughter of a wealthy merchant. Constance was truly a lovely girl,and one for whom Theodore soon began to entertain feelings akin tolove.

Mr. Jackson, (the father of Constance,) was the son of a man who hadbegun life in New York, at the very bottom of fortune's wheel. Hewas a native of Ireland, and came to this country very poor. Forsome years, with his pack on his back, he gained a subsistence byvending dry-goods, and unimportant trifles, through the counties andsmall towns in the vicinity of New York. Gradually he laid up dollarafter dollar, until he was able to open a very small shop in MaidenLane, a kind of thread-and-needle store. Careful in his purchases,and constant in his attendance on business, he soon began to findhis tens counting hundreds; and but few years rolled away, beforehis hundreds began to grow into thousands. After a while he took alarger store, and suddenly became known. and respected as "amerchant." At the end of twenty years from the time he carried hispack out of New York, he could write himself worth fifty thousanddollars. Success continued to crown his efforts in business, andwhen his children came on the stage of active life, they were raisedto consider themselves as far superior to mere mechanics, or thosewho had to labour for their daily bread.

The father of Constance was the eldest son of old Mr. Jackson, andinherited from him a large share of haughty pride. His wife was outof a family with notions equally aristocratic. Constance was theironly child, and they had bestowed no little care in endeavouring tomake her the most accomplished young lady in New York. They lovedher tenderly, but pride divided with affection their interest inher. She had already declined the hands of two young men of thefirst families in the city, much to the displeasure of both herparents, when she met Theodore Wilmer, who resided in the family ofMr. Wykoff, partner in the house that employed the young man in thecapacity of clerk. In this family, Constance visited regularly, andthe intimacy which sprung up between the young couple, had a chanceof maturing into a more permanent affection, before Mr. or Mrs.Jackson had the slightest suspicion of such an event. Indeed, thefirst knowledge they had of the real state of affairs was obtainedthrough Wilmer himself, in the form of an application for the handof their daughter. It was made to Mr. Jackson, on whom it fell withthe unexpected suddenness of a flash from a clear sky in June.

"And pray, sir, who are you?" was his hasty and excited answer.

"Theodore Wilmer, clerk in the house of Rensselaer, Wykoff & Co."

"Are you really in earnest, young man?" said Mr. Jackson, in acalmer voice, though his lips trembled with suppressed anger.

"Never more so in my life, sir."

"And does my daughter know of this application?"

"She does."

"And is it made by her consent?"

"Of course."

The calm, and "of course" manner of the young man was more than thepatience of Jackson could withstand. Hardly able to contain theindignation that swelled within him, at the presumption of anunknown clerk, thus to ask the hand of his daughter, he paused but amoment, and then seizing Wilmer by the shoulder, and looking himsteadily in the face, while he almost foamed with anger, repliedthus to his last admission:--

"If that headstrong girl has dared to place her thoughts on you,obscure underling! and dared, as you say, to consent to accept you,I will cut her off this hour from fortune and affection. I will casther loose upon the world as unworthy. Go--go--and never presume tocome again into my presence!"

Opposition, denial, he had expected; but nothing like this. He hadhoped that when the parents saw a fixed resolution on the part ofConstance to accept none other, that gradually opposition would beworn away. Such a termination he now saw to be hopeless. The fatherdid not seek an immediate interview with his child. Before meetingher, he had found time to reflect upon the real position of affairs.He was well enough taught in the theory, at least, of a woman'saffections. He had heard of instances where opposition in a loveaffair had only added fuel to the flame; and one or two such caseshad fallen under his own eye. He, therefore, decided to make nopresent show of opposition, and on no consideration to allow her toknow of the interview that had occurred between her lover andhimself. Mrs. Jackson, entering into her husband's view andfeelings, took upon herself the task of watching and silentlycontrolling all the movements of her daughter. Particular care wastaken to prevent her visiting the family of Mr Wykoff.

"Where are you going, love?" said her mother, to her the next dayafter that of the interview, as Constance came out of her room,dressed for a walk.

"I promised to walk with Laura Wykoff, ma, and am going to call forher."

"I was just going to send for you to dress for a walk with me; Iwant to make a call to-day on Madame Boyer. And this afternoon I amto spend with Mrs. Claxton and her five daughters, and you must goalong, of course. So you will have to postpone your walk with Lauratoday."

If it had only been the walk with Laura Wykoff, Constance would nothave hesitated a moment, but her heart almost ached with suspense toknow from Theodore the result of his interview with her father. Hehad promised to leave a note for her with Laura, who was theirmutual confidante. The mother, of course, noticed an air of regretat her disappointment, and ingeniously remarked--

"So you would rather walk with Miss Wykoff, than your mother?"

The tears started into the eyes of Constance, and twining her armsaround the neck of her mother, she murmured,

"No, no, dear mother! How could you think so?"

Hiding her anxious desire to know the result of that interview uponwhich hung her fate, she passed with apparent cheerfulness throughthe weary day; and late at night sought her pillow from which sleephad fled. On the next morning, much to her distress of mind, shelearned that a visit of a few weeks to a relation in Albany had beensuddenly determined upon, and that in company with her mother shehad to set off in the first boat that day. Her suspicions were atonce roused as to the real cause for this hasty movement, and shedetermined to write to Theodore immediately on her arrival atAlbany.

The beautiful scenery of the Hudson was unappreciated by one eye ofthe many brilliant ones that looked out from the majestic boat,that, in the language of Carlyle, "travelled on fire-wings," throughthe looming highlands. The watchful mother strove hard to divert themind of her child, but in vain. Her heart was away from the presentreality; and no effort of her own could bring it back. It was nightwhen the boat arrived, and no chance offered for writing beforeretiring to bed. It seemed, indeed, as if the mother, suspiciousthat some communication would be made in this way, kept so aboutConstance all the next day, that she had no chance of droppingTheodore even a line to say where she was, and that she stillremembered him with affection. And the next day passed in the sameway; not an hour, not a moment could she get for privacy oruninterrupted self-communion. At last she determined to write toLaura Wykoff, to which, of course, her mother could make noobjection. But she dared not mention the name of Theodore, or alludeto her present restrained condition, except remotely, for fear thather mother would ask to see the letter. This letter was given to aservant to convey to the post-office, in the presence of her mother.It never reached its destination. And the mother knew well thereason why. In it, she asked an immediate answer. Day after daypassed, and no answer came. She wrote again, and with the samesuccess. Finally, she gained a few minutes to pen a line or two toTheodore, which she concealed, suspecting that there was somethingwrong about the transmission of the letters, until a chance offeredfor having it certainly placed in the right channel of conveyance.This note reached Theodore, and removed a mountain from hisfeelings. He had learned of her hasty journey to Albany, but thiswas all he could ascertain, and suspecting the cause, his mind wasin a state of racking and painful suspense.

Day after day passed, until a month had expired, and still there wasno indication of a movement to return home. Once or twice a week herfather would come up from New York, and to the persuasions of therelatives at whose house they were visiting, half-consented thatConstance and her mother should stay all summer. Finally, it wasdecided, that Albany should be their place of residence for somemonths.

Things assuming this decided appearance, Constance now set herselfresolutely to work to circumvent her mother's careful surveillance.It was the first time in her life that she had seriously determinedto act towards the parent she had so long and so tenderly loved,with duplicity. All at once she became more cheerful, and seemed toenter with a joyful spirit into every plan proposed for spending thetime pleasantly. With a sprightly cousin, a young girl of her ownage, she cultivated a close intimacy, and finding her somewhatromantic and independent, finally confided to her the secret thatwas wearing into her heart from concealment. Readily did EllenRaymond enter into the scheme she at last proposed, which was towrite to Theodore, and give the letter into her charge. It waspromptly conveyed to the post-office. Theodore was directed toaddress Ellen, and in the envelope to enclose a letter forConstance. On the third day, the young ladies took a walk, and intheir way called at the post-office. A letter was handed out toEllen, and on breaking the seal, another appeared addressed toConstance. She did not dare to open it in the street, but retired toa confectioner's, and while Ellen was tasting an ice-cream,Constance was devouring, with eager eyes, the first love-token shehad ever received from Theodore Wilmer.

This was the beginning of a correspondence which was regularly keptup through the summer, of all of which both father and motherremained profoundly ignorant. They were delighted to see theirdaughter so soon recover from the first deep depression of spiritswhich was occasioned by their sudden removal from New York, butlittle suspected the cause. Less and less carefully did the motherwatch her daughter, and more frequently were the two young friendsalone in their chambers, even for hours together. Such times werenot spent idly by Constance. Thus the verymeans--separation--resorted to by Mr. Jackson and his wife, to weanthe mind of their daughter from the "low-born" Wilmer, only proved,from not having been thoroughly carried out, that which bound themtogether in heart for ever. Give two lovers, pen, ink, and paper,and their love will defy time and distance. The thousand expressedfond regards, and weariness of absence, endear each to each; andimagination, from affection, invests each with new and undiscoveredperfections. Three months had passed away since the hasty journeyfrom New York, and supposing Constance to be thoroughly weaned fromher foolish preference for a poor clerk, for she was now cheerful,and expressed no wish to return--the parents proposed to go back tothe city. Preparation was accordingly made, and in a few daysConstance found herself, with a yearning desire to get home again,gliding swiftly along the smooth surface of the Hudson. She had notfailed to inform Theodore of her return, and as the boat swept up tothe wharf, her quick eye caught his eager face bending over towardsher. A glance of glad, and yet painful recognition passed betweenthem, and in the next moment he had disappeared in the living massof human beings. For some time she was closely watched; but shecarefully lulled suspicion, and at last succeeded in managing to getshort and stolen interviews with Wilmer. Their first meeting was ata young friend's, to whom she had confided her secret: this was notLaura Wykoff, for her mother had managed to fall out with herfamily, so as to have a good plea for denying to Constance theprivilege of visiting her. Regularly did the lovers meet, about onceevery week, at this friend's; and, encouraged by her, they finallytook the hazardous and decisive step of getting marriedclandestinely.

Three days after this event, Wilmer entered the store of themerchants in whose service he had been for years, for the purpose ofresuming his regular duties which had been briefly interrupted. Hewas met by the senior partner, with a manner that chilled him to theheart.

"Is Mr. Wykoff in?" he asked.

"No," was the cold reply.

"He has not left town?"

"Yes. He went to New Orleans yesterday, and will not return for twoor three months."

"Did he leave a letter for me?"

"No."

Then came an embarrassing silence of some moments which was brokenby Wilmer's saying--

"I suppose that I can resume my duties, as usual?"

"We have supplied your place," was the answer to this.

Quick as thought, the young man turned away, and left the store, hismind all in confusion. In marrying Constance in opposition to herparents' wishes, he did so with a feeling of pride in the internalpower, and external facilities, which he possessed for risingrapidly in the world, and showing ere long to old Mr. Jackson, thathe could stand upon an equal social eminence with himself. Howsuddenly was this feeling of proud confidence dashed to the earth!The external facilities upon which he had based his anticipationswere to be found in the friendship and ample means of the house ofRensselaer, Wykoff & Co. That friendship had been suddenlywithdrawn, evidently in strong disapprobation of what he had done.

As he turned away, and walked slowly along, he knew not and scarcelycared whither, a feeling of deep despondency took possession of hismind. From a proud consciousness of ability to rise rapidly in theworld, and show to the friends of Constance that she had not chosenone really beneath her, he sunk into that gloomy and depressingstate of mind in which we experience a painful inability to doanything, while deeply sensible that unusual efforts are required atour hands. The thought of not being able to lift his wife above theobscure condition in which he must now inevitably remain, at leastfor a long time, seemed as if it would drive him mad. Passing slowlyalong, wrapped thus in gloomy meditations, he was suddenly arousedby a hand upon his arm, and a cheerful voice, saying--

"Give us your hand, Theodore! Here's a hearty shake, and a heartycongratulation at the same time! Run off with that purse--proud oldcurmudgeon's daughter Ha! ha! I like you for that! You're a man ofmettle. But, halloo! What's the matter? You look as grave as abarn-door, on the shady side. Not repenting, already, I hope?"

"Yes, Henry, I am repenting of that rash act from the very bottom ofmy heart."

"O, no! Don't talk in that way, Theodore. Constance is one of thesweetest girls in the city, and will make you a lovely wife. Thereare hundreds who envy you."

"They need not; for this is the most wretched hour of my life."

"Why, what in the world is the matter, Wilmer?" his friend repliedto this. "You look as if you had buried instead of married a wife.But come, you want a glass of something to revive you. Let us stepin here. I am a little dry myself."

Without hesitation or reply, Wilmer entered a drinking-house, withthe young man, where they retired to a box, and ordered brandy andwater. After this had been taken in silence, the friend, whose namewas Wilbert Arnold, said--

"The state of mind in which I find you, Theodore, surprises andpains me greatly. If it is not trespassing too far upon privatematters, I should like very much to know the reason. I ask, becauseI feel now, and always have felt, much interest in you."

It was some time before Wilmer replied to this. At length, he said--

"The cause of my present state of mind is of such recent occurrence,and I have become so bewildered in consequence of it, that I canscarcely rally my thoughts sufficiently to reply to your kindinquiries. Suffice it to say, that, in consequence, I presume, of myhaving run off with Mr. Jackson's daughter, I have lost a goodsituation, and the best of friends. I am, therefore, thrown upon theworld at this very crisis, like a sailor cast upon the ocean, withbut a plank to sustain himself, and keep his head above the waves.When I married Miss Jackson, it was with the resolution to riserapidly, and show to the world that she had not chosenthoughtlessly. Of course, I expected the aid of Rensselaer, Wykoff &Co. Their uniform kindness towards me seemed a sure guarantee forthis aid. But the result has been, not only their estrangement fromme, but my dismissal from their service. And now, what to do, orwhere to turn myself, I do not know. Really I feel desperate!"

"That is bad, truly," Arnold rejoined, musingly, after Wilmer hadceased speaking. Then ringing a little hand-bell that stood upon thetable, he ordered the waiter, was obeyed the summons, to bring somemore brandy. Nothing further was said until the brandy was served,of which both of the young men partook freely.

"What do you intend doing?" Arnold at length asked, looking hisfriend in the face.

"I wish you would answer that question for me, for it's more than Ican do," was the gloomy response.

"You must endeavour to rise in the world. It will never do to bringConstance down to the comparatively mean condition in which a clerkwith a small salary is compelled to live."

"That I know, too well. But how am I to prevent it? That is whatdrives me almost beside myself."

"You must hit upon some expedient for making money fast."

"I know of no honest expedients."

"I think that I do."

"Name one."

"Do you know Hardville?"

"Yes."

"He came as near failure as could possibly be, last week."

"He did?"

"Yes."

"And how did he get through?"

"It is the answer to that question which I wish you to consider. Hewas saved from ruin in the last extremity, and by what some wouldcall a desperate expedient. Your case is a desperate one, and, ifyou would save yourself, you must resort to desperate expedients,likewise."

"Name the expedient."

"Hardville had one thousand dollars to pay, more than he couldpossibly raise. He tried everywhere, but to no purpose. He couldneither borrow nor collect that sum. In a moment of desperation, heput one hundred dollars into his pocket, and went to a regularestablishment near here, and staked that sum at play. In two hourshe came away with twelve hundred dollars in his pocket, instead ofone hundred. And thus he was saved from ruin."

When Arnold ceased speaking, Wilmer looked him in the face with asteady, stern, half-angry look, but made no reply.

"Try another glass of this brandy," the former said, pouring out apretty liberal supply for each. Mechanically, Wilmer put the glassto his lips, and turned off the contents.

"Well, what do you think of that plan?" asked the friend, after eachhad sat musing for some time.

"I am not a gambler!" was the reply.

"Of course not. But your case, as I said, and as you admit, is adesperate one; and requires desperate remedies. The fact of yourgoing to a regular establishment, and gaining there, in anhonourable way, something, as a capital to begin with, does not makeyou a gambler. After you have got a start, you needn't go there anymore. And all you want is a start. Give you that, and, my word forit, you will make your way in the world with the best of them."

"O, yes! Give me a start, as you say, and I'll go ahead as fast asanybody. Give me that start, and I'll show old Mr. Jackson in a fewyears that I can count dollars with him all day."

"Exactly. And that start you must have. Now, how are you going toget it, unless in the way that I suggest?"

"I am not so sure that I can get it in that way."

"I am, then. Only make the trial. You owe it to your wife to do so.For her sake, then, let me urge you to act promptly andefficiently."

Thus tempted, while his mind was greatly obscured by the strongpotations he had taken, Theodore Wilmer began to waver. It did notseem half so wrong, nor half so disgraceful, to play for money, asit did at first. Finally, he agreed to meet his friend that evening,and get introduced to some one of the many gambling establishmentsthat infest all large cities.

A reaction in his feelings now took place. The elation of mindcaused by the brandy, made him confident of success. He saw beforehim a rapid elevation to wealth and standing in society, and,consequently, a rapid restoration of Constance to the circle inwhich she had moved.

Before marriage, he had rented a handsome house, and had itfurnished in very good style, upon means which he had prudentlysaved from a liberal salary. Into this, he at once introduced hisyoung wife, who had already begun to feel her heart yearning for hermother's voice, and her mother's smile. One young friend had beenwith her all the morning, but had left towards the middle of the dayAlone, for the first time, since her hurried marriage, her feelingsbecame somewhat saddened in their hue. But as the hour approachedfor her husband to come home, those feelings gate place, in adegree, to an ardent desire for his return, the result of deep andfervent love for him. She had sat for some moments, expecting tohear him at the door, when the bell rung, and she started to herfeet, and stood on the floor, ready to spring forward the moment heshould enter the room. No one, however, came in, and her heart sunkin her bosom with the disappointment. In a moment after, the servanthanded her a note, the seal of which she broke hastily. It was fromher husband, and ran thus:--

"DEAR CONSTANCE:--An accumulation of business in my absence sopresses upon me now, that I cannot possibly come so great a distanceto dinner, at least for this day. It may likewise keep me away untileight or nine o'clock this evening. But keep a good heart, dear; ourmeeting will be pleasanter for the long absence--Adieu,

THEODORE."

The note dropped from her hand, and she sank into a chair, overcomewith a feeling of strong disappointment. To wait until eight or nineo'clock in the evening, before she should see him, when the morninghad appeared lengthened to a day! O, it seemed as if she could notendure the wearisome interval!

As for Wilmer, the truth was, he found himself so much under theinfluence of the liberal quantity of brandy which he had taken, thathe dared not go home to Constance. He would not have appeared beforeher as he was, for the world. It was under the consciousness of hiscondition, that he wrote the billet, which his young wife hadreceived. After doing so, he went to bed at a public house, andslept until towards evening. When he awoke, Arnold was sitting inthe chamber. Some feelings of bitter regret for the pains which hisabsence must have caused his young wife, passed through his mind, ashe aroused himself. These were soon drowned by a few glasses ofwine, which his friend had already ordered to be sent up. Thatfriend, let it here be remarked, was not a professed gambler--norhad he any sinister designs in urging on Wilmer as he was doing. Buthe was a man of loose morals, and, therefore, really believed thathe was doing him a service in urging him to make an effort to getupon his feet by means of the gambling-table. Knowing the youngman's high-toned feelings--and how utterly he must, from hischaracter, condemn anything like play, he had purposely sought toobscure his perceptions by inducing him to drink freely. In this, hehad succeeded.

As soon as night had thrown her dark shadows over the city, the twoyoung men took their steps towards one of those haunts, known, tooappropriately, by the name of "hells." At eight o'clock, Theodorewent in, with two hundred dollars in his pocket--all the money hepossessed;--and at ten o'clock, came out penniless.

Lonely and long was the afternoon to the young bride, givingopportunity to many thoughts of a sober, and even saddening nature.Evening came at last, and then night with its deeper gloom. Eighto'clock arrived, and nine, but her husband did not return. And thenthe minutes slowly passed, until the clock struck ten.

"O, where can he be!" Constance ejaculated, rising to her feet, andbeginning to pace the room to and fro, pausing every moment tolisten to the sound of passing footsteps. Thus she continued for thespace of something like half an hour, when she sunk exhausted upon achair. It was twelve o'clock when he at length came in. As he openedthe door, his young wife sprung to his side, exclaiming--

"O, Theodore! Theodore! Why have you staid away so very long?"

As she said this, he staggered against her, almost throwing herover, and then passed on to the parlors without a word in return toher earnest and affectionate greeting.

Poor Constance was stunned for the moment. But she quicklyrecovered, her woman's heart nerving itself involuntarily, andfollowed after her husband. He had thrown himself upon a sofa, andsat, half-reclining, with his head upon his bosom.

"Are you sick, dear Theodore?" his young wife asked, in a tone ofdeep and earnest affection, laying her hand upon him, and bendingdown and kissing his forehead.

"Yes, I am sick, Constance," was the half-stupid reply--

"Come, then, let me assist you up to bed. A good night's rest willdo you good," she said, gently urging him to rise.

She understood perfectly his condition. She knew that it wasintoxication. But while it pained her young heart deeply, it awokein her bosom no feelings of alarm. She felt convinced that it wasthe result of accident, and had no expectation of ever again seeingits recurrence. She asked him if he were sick, to spare him themortification of knowing that she perceived the true nature of hisindisposition.

Thus urged, he at once arose, and supported by the weak arm of hisyoung wife, slowly ascended the stairs, and entered his chamber. Itwas not many minutes before his senses were locked in profoundslumber.

Not so, however, Constance. The earnestness with which she hadlooked for evening to come, that she might again see the face, andhear the voice of her husband, had greatly excited her mind. Thisexcitement was increased by the condition in which he had sounexpectedly returned. The effect was, to keep her awake, in spiteof strong efforts to sink away into sleep. Many sad and despondingthoughts forced themselves upon her, as she lay, hour after hour, ina state of half-waking consciousness. It was nearly day-dawn, when,from all this, she found relief in a deep slumber.

The next day was one of heart-aching reflections to Theodore Wilmer.In his eager, but half-insane effort to elevate himself rapidly forthe sake of his young wife, he had sunk into actual want, and notonly forfeited his own self-respect, but degraded himself, he felt,in the eyes of her whose love was dearer to him than life.

The events of two years must now be passed over, with but a briefnotice. There will be enough in the after history of Wilmer and hisyoung wife, to awaken the reader's keenest sympathies, withoutunveiling the particular incidents of this period.

Suffice it, then, to say,--that the first night's experience at thegambling-table was not enough to satisfy Wilmer, that it was neitherthe right way, nor the most successful way of elevating himself inthe world. So anxious did he feel on account of Constance, that beborrowed money of his false friend Arnold, on the evening of thevery next day, and after drinking, freely, to nerve himself up,sought again the gambling-table. At ten o'clock, he left, the winnerby fifty dollars. He left thus early on account of his wife, whowould be, he knew, anxiously looking for his return. This encouragedhim to go on, and he did go on. But he could never feel sanguine ofsuccess, or be able to still the troubled whispers within, until hehad drunken freely. Of course, he was every day more or less underthe influence of liquor. For a year, he managed, in this way, tokeep up the style of living in which he had commenced, but he couldget nothing ahead. None could imagine how this was done, for theyoung man was exceedingly cautious. He looked to some good turn offortune by which he should be enabled to abandon for ever a courseof life that he hated and despised. No such lucky turn, however, methis anxious expectations. After the first year of this course oflife, his health, which had never been very good, began rapidly tofail. His cheeks became hollow, and a racking cough began to showitself. Still he went on keeping late hours, and drinking more andmore freely, while his mind was all the time upon the rack. Towardsthe close of the second year, he was taken down with a severeillness, the result of all this abuse of mind and body. He lingeredlong upon the brink of the grave; but the little energy which hissystem retained, rallied at last, and he began slowly to recover.During convalescence, he had full time for reflection. For full twoyears, he had been almost constantly so much under the influence ofbrandy, as really to be unable to think rationally upon any subject,and he had, in consequence, pursued a course of life, injurious,both to his own moral and physical health, and to the happiness ofher for whom he would, at any moment of that time, have sacrificedeverything, even life itself. In rising from that bed of sickness,it was with a solemn vow never again to enter a gaming-house, andnever again to touch the bewildering poison that had been thesecondary, if not, indeed, the primary cause of two years'folly--nay, madness.

And Constance, what of her, all that time? the reader asks. It wouldbe a difficult task to give even a feeble idea of all she patientlyendured, and of all she suffered. Not once in that long period didshe either see, or hear from her parents. Three or four times hadshe written to them, but no answer was returned. At last sheventured under the yearning anxiety that she felt once more to seeher mother, and to hear the voice that lingered in her memory likeold familiar music to go to her, and ask her forgiveness and herlove. But she was coldly and cruelly repulsed--not even beingpermitted to gain her mother's presence.

In regard to her husband, her love was like a deep, pure stream. Itscourse was never troubled by passion, or obstructed in its onwardcourse. Though he would come home often and often in a state ofstupor from drink--though it was rarely earlier than midnight whenhe returned to make glad with his presence her watching and waitingheart, she never felt a reproaching thought. And to her, his wordsand tones, and manner, were ever full of tenderness. Deeply did helove her--and for her sake more than for his own, was he strugglingthus against a powerful current daily exhausting his strength,without moving onward.

Thus much, briefly, of those two years of toil, and struggle, andpain. On recovering, with a shattered constitution, from the seriousattack of illness that had resulted from the abuse of himself duringthat period, Wilmer felt compelled to give up his fondly-cherishedideas of rising with Constance to the position from which he haddragged her down, and to be content with a humbler lot. He,therefore, sought, and obtained a situation as a clerk at a salaryof eight hundred dollars per annum. Already he had been compelled tomove into a smaller house than the one at first taken, and in thishe was now able to remain.

But seeing, with a clearer vision than before, Wilmer perceived thatmuch of the bloom had faded from his wife's young cheek, and thather heart had not ceased to yearn for the home and loved ones of herearlier years.

Another year passed away, and during the whole of that time not oneword of kindness or censure reached the ears of Constance from herparents. They seemed to have not only cast her off, abut to haveforgotten the fact of her existence. To a mind like that of TheodoreWilmer's, any condition in which a beloved one was made to sufferkeenly, and as he believed, alone through him, could not be enduredwithout serious inroads upon a shattered constitution; and much tohis alarm, by the end of the year he found that he was less ablethan usual to attend through the whole day to the fatiguing dutiesof the counting-room. Frequently he would return home at night witha pain in his breast, that often continued accompanied by atroublesome cough through a greater part of the night. The morning,too, often found him feverish and debilitated, and with no appetite.

The engrossing love of a mother for her first-born, relieved, duringthis year, in a great degree, the aching void of Constance Wilmer'sbreast. The face of her sweet babe often reflected a smile of deep,heart-felt happiness, lighting up, ere it faded away into the sobercast of thought, a feeble ray upon the face of her husband. Thesteady lapse of days, and weeks, and months, brought a steadydevelopment of the mind and body of their little one. He was theminiature image of his father, with eyes, in which Wilmer could seeall the deep love which lay in the dark depths of those that had wonhis first affections. Happy would they have been but (who would notbe happy were it not for that little word?) for one yearning desirein the heart of Constance for the lost love of her mother--but forthe trembling fear of want that stared Theodore daily in the face.His salary as clerk was small, and to live in New York cost them notrifle. At last, owing to the failure of the house by which he wasemployed, the dreaded event came. He was out of a situation, andfound it impossible to obtain one. the failure had been a very badone, and there was a strong suspicion of unfair dealing. Theprejudice against the house, extended even to the clerks, andseveral of them, finding it very difficult to get other places thatsuited them, left New York for other cities. One of them, a friendto Wilmer, came to Baltimore, and got into a large house; a vacancysoon occurring, he recommended Wilmer, who was sent for. He came atonce, for neither to him nor his wife was there anything attractivein New York. His salary was to be five hundred dollars.

In removing to Baltimore, he took with him the greater part of thefurniture that he had at first purchased, some of which was of asuperior quality. There he rented a small house, and endeavoured bythe closest economy to make his meagre salary sufficient to meetevery want. But this seemed impossible.

Gradually, every year he found himself getting behind-hand, fromfifty to sixty dollars. The birth of a second child added to hisexpenses; and, the failing health of his wife, increased then stillmore. Finally, he got in arrears with the agent of Mr. Moneylove,his landlord. At this time, an apparently rapid decline had becomedeveloped in the system of his wife, and on the night on which hehad appealed to this person's feelings of humanity, as mentioned inthe opening of the story, he found her, on his return, extremelyill. A high fever had set in, and she was suffering. much fromdifficult respiration. The physician must, of course, be called in,even though but the day before he had put off his collector for thetenth time. Sad, from many causes, he turned again from the door ofhis dwelling, and sought the physician.

He rang the bell, and waited with a throbbing heart, for theappearance of the man he earnestly desired, and yet dreaded to; see.When he heard his step upon the stairs, his cheek began to burn, andhe even trembled as a criminal might be supposed to tremble in thepresence of his judge. For a moment he thought only of his unpaidbill, in the next of his suffering wife. The physician entered.Theodore hesitated, and spoke in a low, timid voice, as he requesteda call that night upon his wife.

"Is Mrs. Wilmer very ill?" inquired the physician, in a kind voice.

"I fear seriously so, sir."

"How long has she been sick?"

"It has been several weeks since she complained of a pain in herside; and all that time she has been troubled with a hard cough. Forthe last few days she has hardly been able to move about, andto-night she is in a high fever, and finds great difficulty inbreathing."

"Then she must be attended to, at once. Why did you not call before,Mr. Wilmer? Such delays, you know, are very dangerous."

"I do--I do--but"--Wilmer hesitated, and looked troubled andconfused.

"But what, Mr. Wilmer?" urged the physician in the kindest manner.

"I--I--I have not been able to pay your last bill, much as I havedesired it. My salary is small, and I find it very difficult to getalong."

"Still, my dear sir, health and life are of great value. Andbesides, if you had called in a physician at the earliest stage ofMrs. Wilmer's illness, you might have saved much expense, as well asspared her much suffering. But cheer up, sir; bright sunshine alwayssucceeds the cloud and the storm. I shall be glad to have my billwhen it is convenient, and not before. Don't let it cause you anuneasy moment."

The kind manner of the physicians soothed his feelings, and theprompt visit, and prompt relief given softened the stern anguish ofhis troubled spirit. The bruised reed is never broken. When thestricken heart is tried, it is never beyond the point of endurance.

In no instance had Wilmer drawn from his employers more than hisregular salary, no matter how pressing were his necessities. Beyondthe contract he had entertained no desire to go, but strove, ineverything, to keep down his expenses to his slender income. Now,however, in view of the threat made by the collector of rents, afterhaving thought and thought about it until bewildered with adistressing sense of his almost hopeless condition, he came to theresolution to ask an advance of fifty dollars, to be kept back fromhis regular wages, at the rate of five dollars a month. For somehours he pondered this plan in his mind, and obtained much relieffrom the imaginary execution of it, But when the moment came to askthe favour, his heart sank within him, and his lips were sealed. Inalternate struggles like this, the morning of the first day passed,after his interview with Mr. Money. love, and still he had not beenable to prefer his humble request. When he went home to dine, inconsequence of the continued perturbation of his mind for hours, hewas pale and nervous, with no inclination for food. To add to hisdistress of mind, his oldest child, now a fine boy of four summers,had been taken extremely ill since morning, and the anxietyconsequent upon it, had painfully excited the feeble system of hiswife. Another visit from the physician became necessary, and waspromptly made.

Frequently, in consequence of pressing calls at home, he had beenalmost forced to remain longer away from his place of business atdinner-time, than was customary for the clerks. On this day, twohours had glided by when his hasty foot entered the store, on hisreturn from dinner. His fears of a distraint for rent were greatlyheightened in consequence of the increased illness of his family,and as the only way to prevent it that had occurred to his mind, wasto obtain from his employers a loan of fifty dollars as justmentioned, he had fully made up his mind to waive all feeling and atonce name his request. Two hours we have said had expired since hewent home to dine. On his entering the counting-room, the seniorpartner of the house drew out his watch, and remarked, ratherangrily, that he could not permit such neglect of duty in a clerk,and that unless he kept better hours, he must look for anotherplace.

It was some time before the confusion of his mind, consequent uponthis censure and threat, subsided sufficiently to allow him to feelkeenly the utter prostration of the last expectation for help, thathad arisen like an angel of hope, in what seemed the darkest hour ofhis fate. And bitter indeed, were then his thoughts. Those who havenever felt it, cannot imagine the awful distress which the mindfeels, while contemplating the wants of those who are dearer thanall the world, without possessing the means of relieving them. Attimes, there is a wild excitement, an imaginary consciousness ofpower to do all things; too quickly, alas! succeeded by the chillingcertainty that honestly and honourably it can do nothing.

Slowly and painfully passed the hours until nightfall, and thenWilmer again sought with hasty steps the nest that sheltered hisbeloved ones. Alas! the spoiler had been there. True to his threat,the agent of Mr. Moneylove had taken quick means to get his own. Allof his furniture had been seized, and not only seized, but nearlyeverything, except a bed and a few chairs, removed in his absence.

"O, Constance, what is the meaning of this?" was his agonizedquestion, to his weeping wife, who met him ill as she was at thedoor, and hid her face in his bosom, like a dove seeking protection.

"I cannot tell, Theodore. Everything has been carried off underdistraint for rent, so they said, who came here. But you do not oweany rent, do you? I am sure you never mentioned it."

"It is too true--too true," was his only answer. Carefully hadWilmer concealed from his wife all his troubles. He could not thinkof adding one pang more to the heart that had already suffered somuch on his account. Wisely he did not act in this, but few canblame the weakness that shrunk from giving pain to a beloved object.There are few who have not, sometime in life, found themselves insituations of trial and distress, in which nothing was left them butsubmission. In that very condition did this lonely family, strangersin a strange place, find themselves on this night of strong trial.They experienced a ray of comfort, and that was the apparent healthre-action in the system of their sick child. With this to cheerthem, they gathered their two little ones with them in their onlybed, and slept soundly through the night.

Their servant had left them the day before, and they were spared themortification of having such a witness of their humiliation. Mrs.Wilmer found it somewhat difficult to prepare their food on the nextmorning, as even her kitchen furniture had nearly all shared thefate of the rest, and she found herself very feeble. Something likethree hundred dollars worth had been taken for a debt of forty orfifty. The slender breakfast over, with the reprimand of the daybefore painfully fresh in his mind, Wilmer hastened away to thecounting-room. He had only been a few moments at the desk, when thepartner who had spoken to him the day before, came up with themorning's paper in his hand, and pointing to an advertisement of asale of furniture seized for rent due by Theodore Wilmer, asked himif he was the person named. Wilmer looked at him for some moments,vainly attempting to reply, his face exhibiting the most painfulemotions--finally, he laid his head upon the desk without a word,and gave way to tears. It was a weakness, but he was not thensuperior to it.

"How much do you owe for rent?"

"Forty dollars."

"Forty dollars! And is it for this sum alone that your furniture hasbeen taken?"

"That is all I owe for rent."

"Then why did you not let us know your condition? You should havehad more consideration for your family."

"Yesterday, sir," Wilmer replied, somewhat bitterly, "I came herefrom dinner, after having been unavoidably detained with a sickchild, resolved to conquer my reluctance, and ask for the loan offifty dollars, to be deducted from my salary, at the rate of fivedollars a month. But your reproof for remissness deterred me. Andwhen I returned home, the work had been done. They have left us buta bed, a few chairs, and a common table. Oh, sir, it seems as if itwould kill me!"

"But, my dear sir, when I complained, you owed it to yourself, andyou owed it to me, to explain. How could I know your peculiarsituation?"

"Have you ever felt, sir, that no one cared for you? As if evenHeaven had forgotten you? If not, then you cannot understand myfeelings. It may be wrong, but always meaning to act justly towardsevery one, I feel so humbled by accusation, that I have no heart toexplain. It seems to me that others should know that I would notwrong them."

"It certainly is wrong, Mr. Wilmer. Suppose you had simply mentionedyesterday the illness of your child; I should at once have withdrawnmy censure, and probably have made some kind inquiry; you would thenhave been more free to prefer your request, which would have been atonce granted. See what it would have saved your family."

"I see it all. Feeling always obscures the judgment."

"To one in your particular situation, a right knowledge of the truthyou have just uttered is all-important. No matter what may be yourcondition, never suffer feeling to become so acute as to dim yoursober thoughts, and paralyze your right actions. But here are ahundred dollars. Redeem your things, and get on your feet again.Take them as an advance on your salary for the last year; and drawsix hundred instead of five, in future."

A grateful look told the joy of his heart, as he hastened away. Inone hour the furniture which the day before had been forcibly takenaway, was at his own door.

Relief from present embarrassment, and a fair prospect of a fullsupport for the future, gave Wilmer a lighter heart than he hadcarried in his bosom for many months. The reaction made him for atime happy. But, while our hearts are evil, we cannot be happy,except for brief periods. The disease will indicate by pain itsdeep-rooted presence.

The drooping form of his wife soon called his thoughts back tomisery. Health had wandered away, and the smiling truant strayed solong, that hope of her return had almost forsaken them.

Nearly five years had passed since Constance turned away, almostbroken-hearted, from the door-stone of her father's house; andduring all that long, long time, she had received no token ofremembrance. She dared not suffer herself to think even for a momenton the cruel fact. The sudden, involuntary remembrance of such achange from the fondest affection to the most studied disregard,would almost madden her.

As for Wilmer, the recollection of the past was as a thorn in hispillow, too often driving sleep from a wearied frame, that neededits health-restoring influence. And often, deep and bitter were hisself-reproaches. But for his fatal and half-insane abandonment ofhimself to the vain hope of gaining a foothold by which he mightrapidly elevate his condition for the sake of Constance, he was nowconscious that, slowly, but surely, he would have risen, by thepower of an internal energy of character. And more deeply consciouswas he, that, but for the half-intoxicated condition in which he waswhen he consented to go to a gaming-house, he never would haveabandoned himself to gaming and drinking as he did for two longyears of excited hopes, and dark, gloomy despondency. Two years,that broke down his spirits, and exhausted the energies of hisphysical system. Two years, from whose sad effects, neither mind norbody was ever again able to recover.

But now let us turn from the cast-off, from the forsaken, to theparents who had estranged themselves from their child.

A foreign arrival had brought letters from Mr. Jackson's agent inHolland, containing information of a great fall in tobacco. Largeshipments had been made by several houses, and especially by that ofMr. Jackson, in anticipation of high prices resulting from ascarcity of the article in the German markets. But the shipments hadbeen too large, and a serious decline in price was the consequence.Any interruption of trade, by which the expectation of profitsentertained for months is dashed to the ground in a moment, has,usually, the effect to make the merchant unhappy for a brief period.It takes some time for the energies of his mind, long directed inone course, to gather themselves up again, and bend to some newscheme of profit. The "tobacco speculation" of 18--, had been afavourite scheme of Mr. Jackson's, and he had entered into it morelargely than any other American house. Its failure necessarilyinvolved him in a heavy loss.

As evening came quietly down, sobering into a browner mood thefeelings of Mr. Jackson, the merchant turned his steps slowlytowards his home. Naturally, the smiling image of his daughter cameup before his mind, and he quickened his pace instinctively. Heremembered how nearly he had lost even this darling treasure, andchid himself for being troubled at the loss of a few thousanddollars, when he was so rich in the love of a lovely child. He rangthe bell with a firmer hand, and stepped more lightly as he enteredthe hall, in anticipation of the sweet smile of his heart's darling.He felt a little disappointed at not finding her in thesitting-room, but did not ask for her, in expectation of seeing herenter each moment. So much was he engrossed with her image that healmost forgot his business troubles. Gradually his mind, from theover-excitement of the day, became a little fretted, as he listenedin vain for her light foot-fall at the door. When the bell rung fortea, he started, and asked,--

"Where is Constance?"

"In her room, I suppose," replied Mrs. Jackson, indifferently. Theyseated themselves at the tea-table, and waited for a few moments;but Constance did not come.

"John, run up and call Constance; perhaps she did not hear thebell."

John returned in a moment with the intelligence that his youngmistress was not there.

"Then, where is she?" asked both the parents at once.

"Don't know," replied John, mechanically.

"Call Sarah."

Sarah came.

"Where is Constance?"

"I don't know, ma'am."

"Did she go out this afternoon?"

"Yes, ma'am. She went out about two hours ago, ma'am."

"That's strange," said her mother. "She always tells me where she isgoing."

Both parents left the tea-table, each with a heavy presentiment ofcoming trouble about the heart. They went, as by one consent, toConstance's chamber. The mother proceeded to look into her drawers,and found to her grief and astonishment that they were nearly allempty.

For some time, neither spoke a word. The truth had flashed upon themind of each at the same moment.

"It may not yet be too late," were the first words spoken, and bythe mother.

"It is too late," was the brief, but meaning response.

From that time her name was not mentioned, and even her portrait wastaken down and thrown into the lumber-room. Her few letters, afterher hasty and imprudent marriage, were burned up without beingopened. So much for wounded family pride! But think not that herimage was really obliterated from their minds. No--no. It was therean ever constant and living presence.--

Though neither of the parents spoke of, or alluded to her, yet theycould not drive away her spiritual presence.

Year after year glided away, and though the name of Constance hadnever passed their lips, and they knew nothing of her destiny; yetas year after year passed, her image, now a sad, tearful image, grewmore and more distinct before their eyes. In their dreams they oftensaw her in suffering and nigh unto death, and when they wouldstretch forth their hands to save her, she would be snatched out oftheir sight. Still they mentioned not her name; and the worldthought the cold-hearted, unnatural parents had even forgotten theirchild.

But what had they now to live for? To such as they, no happinessresulted from doing good to others, for the love of self hadextinguished all love of the neighbour. The passion foraccumulating, it is true, still remained with the merchant; buttrade had become so broken up and diverted from its old channels,that he realized small profits, and frequent losses. Finally, heretired from business, and from the city.

After the marriage of Constance, Mrs. Jackson found herself of farless consideration in company. Few in high life are altogetherheartless, and all are ready to censure any exhibition of familypride, which is carried so far as to alienate the parent from thechild. This feeling the mother of Constance found to prevailwherever she went, and she never attributed the coolness offashionable acquaintances, nor the gradual falling away of moreintimate friends, to any other than the right cause. How could she?In her case the adage was true to the letter--"A guilty conscienceneeds no accusation."

Nearly ten years had passed away since the parents became worse thanchildless. They were living at their country residence near Harlaem,enduring, but not enjoying life. They had wealth, and every comfortand luxury that wealth could bring. But the slave who toiled in theburning sun, and prepared his own coarse food at night in a dirtyhovel, was happier than they. Even unto this time had they notspoken together of their child, since the day of her departure.

One night in August, a terrible storm swept over New York and itsneighbourhood. Flash after flash of keen lightning blazed across thesky, and peal after peal of awful thunder rent the air. It came upabout midnight, and continued for more than an hour. Mr. and Mrs.Jackson were roused from slumber by this terrible war of theelements. Its noise had troubled their sleep ere it awoke them, andtheir dreams were of their child. During its awful continuance,while they felt themselves more intimately in the hands of theAll-Powerful, their many sins passed rapidly before them, but thestain that darkened the whole of the last ten years, the one crimeof many years, which made their hearts sick within them with astrange fear, was their conduct towards their child. But neitherspoke of it. Upon this subject, for several years, they had beenafraid of each other.

The storm passed away, but they could not sleep. Wearied naturesought, but could find no repose. Each tossed and turned and wishedfor the morning, and when the morning began to dawn they closedtheir eyes, and almost wished the darkness had continued. A troubledsleep fell upon the husband, and in it he murmured the name of hischild. The quick ear of the mother caught the word, and it thrilledthrough every nerve. Tears stole down her cheeks, and her heartswelled near to bursting with maternal instincts. The vision of hischild that passed before him had been no pleasant one, and with themurmur of her name he awoke to consciousness. Lifting himself up, hesaw the tearful face of his wife. He could not mistake the cause.Why should she weep but for her child? He looked at her for amoment, when she pronounced the name of Constance, and hid hertearful face on his breast.

The fountain was now unsealed, and the feelings of the parentsgushed out like the flow of pent-up waters. They talked ofConstance, and blamed themselves, and wept for their lost one. Butwhere was she? how could they find her?

The sun had scarcely risen, when Mr. Jackson set out to seek for hischild, while his wife remained at home in a state of agonizingsuspense. He knew not whether she were alive or dead; in New York orelsewhere. The second day brought Mrs. Jackson a letter, it ran asfollows:--

"I have searched in vain for our Constance. But how could it beotherwise? Who should know more about her than myself? I have askedsome of our old acquaintances if they ever heard of her since hermarriage. They shake their heads and look at me as though theythought me demented. Laura Wykoff, you know, married some years ago.I called upon her. She knew little or nothing; but said, she hadheard that her husband who had become dissipated had left her andgone off to Baltimore. She thought it highly probable that she hadbeen dead some years. She treated me coldly enough. But I feelnothing for myself. Poor, dear child! where can thy lot be cast?Perhaps, how dreadful the thought! she may have dragged herdrooping, dying form past our dwelling, once her peaceful home, andlooked her last look upon the door shut to her for ever, while thecold winds of winter chilled her heart in its last pulsations. Oh, Ifear we have murdered our poor child! Every meagre-looking,shrinking female form I pass on the street, makes my heart throb.'Perhaps that is Constance,' I will say, and hasten to read thecountenance of the forlorn one. But I turn away, and sigh; 'where,where can she be?'

"Since writing this, I have seen a young man who knew her husband.He says, that after the failure of a house in which Wilmer wasemployed, he went to Baltimore and took Constance with him. He says,he knows this to be so, because he was well acquainted with Wilmer,and shook hands with him on the steamboat when he went away. Ihinted to him what I had heard about Wilmer's leaving her. Herepelled the insinuation with warmth, and said, that he, Wilmer,would have died rather than cause Constance a painful feeling--thatshe certainly did go with him, for when he parted with Wilmer,Constance was leaning on his arm. He says, she looked pale andtroubled; and mentioned that they had with them a sweet little baby.Oh, how my heart yearns after my child!

"I have since learned the name of the firm in Baltimore in whoseemployment he was, shortly after he went there. To-morrow morning Ishall go to that city. You shall hear from me on my arrival."

Nearly a week passed before Mrs. Jackson received furtherintelligence from her husband. I will not attempt to describe herfeelings during that long time. In suffering or joy we discover howrelative and artificial are all our ideas of time.

The next letter ran thus:--

"Here I am in Baltimore, but it seems no nearer finding our childthan when I was in New York. The firm in whose employment Wilmer wasshortly after his arrival in Baltimore, has been dissolved someyears; and I am told that neither of the partners is now in thiscity. I have not been able to learn the name of a single clerk whowas in their store. I feel disheartened, yet more eager every day tofind our lost one. Where can she be?

"A day more has passed since my arrival here, and I have a littlehope. I have found one of his former fellow-clerks. He says, that hethinks Wilmer is still in town. I do not want to advertise for him,if I can help it, but shall do so before I leave the city, if othermeans fail. This young man tells me, that when he knew him he hadthree children. He never saw our Constance. He represents Wilmer ashaving been in bad health, and as generally appearing dejected. Hesays, all his furniture was once seized and sold by the sheriff forrent, but that it was redeemed next day by his employers, whotreated him very kindly on the occasion. I have heard nothing of thepoor boy that has not prepossessed me in his favour. I fear he hashad a hard time of it. How much happiness have we lost--how muchmisery have we occasioned!--Surely we have lived in vain all ourlives! I feel more humbled every day since I left home.

"Since yesterday I have learned that he was in the city less than ayear ago--and that Constance was living. How my heart throbs! ShallI see my own dear child again? Theodore, I fear, is in very badhealth, if still alive. He had to give up a good situation about ayear ago, as book-keeper in a large establishment here, where he wasmuch esteemed, on account of his health giving way so fast under theconfinement. I believe he took another situation as salesman in aretail store, on a very small salary. Some one told me thatConstance had been under the necessity of taking in sewing, to helpto get a living--and all this time we had abundance all around us! Icall myself, 'wretch,'--and so I would call any other man who wouldcast off his child, as I have done--a tender flower to meet the coldwinds of autumn.

"I have seen my child! my poor dear Constance! But oh, how changed!While passing along the street to-day, almost in despair of everfinding her--a slender female, about the same height of Constance,passed me hastily. There was something peculiar, I thought, abouther, and I felt as I had never yet felt, while near a stranger. Ifollowed her, scarce knowing the reason why. She entered aclothing-store, and I went in after her, and asked to look at somearticle, I scarce knew what. Her first word startled me as would ashock of electricity. It was my own child. But I could not makemyself known to her there. She laid down upon the counter threevests, and then presented a small book. in which to have the workentered. The entry was made, and the book handed back.

"'There are just three dollars due you,' said the man.

"'Three-and-a-half, I believe it is, sir.'

"'No, it's only three.'

"'Then I have calculated wrong. I thought it was three-and-a-half.'

"How mournful and disappointed was her tone!

"After standing for some time looking over her book, she said in alighter voice, 'well, I believe I am right. See here; I have madetwenty-eight vests, and at twelve-and-a-half cents each, that isthree dollars and a half.'

"'Well, I believe you are right,' said the man, in a changed tone,after looking over the book again.

"'Can you pay me to-day? I am much in want of it.'

"'No, I can't. I have a thousand dollars to pay in bank, and Icannot spare anything before two or three days.'

"She paused a moment, and then went slowly towards the door;lingered for a short time, and then turned to the man again. I thensaw for the first time, for ten long years, her face. How thin andpale it was! how troubled its expression!--But it was the face ofour dear Constance. She did not look towards me; but turned again tothe shop-keeper, and said,

"'Be kind enough, sir, to let me have one dollar. I want it verymuch!'

"'You give me more trouble about your money than any other workman Ihave,' said the man roughly, as he handed her a dollar.

"She took it, unheeding the cruel remark, and before I could make upmy mind how to act, glided quickly away. I followed as hastily, andcontinued to walk after her, until I saw her enter a large,old-fashioned brick building. About this dwelling, there was no airof comfort. In the door sat a little girl, and two boys, pale, butpleasant-looking children. One of them clapped his little hands asConstance passed them, and then got up and ran after her into thehouse. They all had her own bright eyes. I would have known them for hers anywhere.

"Does it not seem strange that I hesitated to go in at once to mychild. But I am at a loss what to do. Sometimes I think that I willwait until you come on, and make her heart glad with the presence ofboth at once. To-morrow I will write you again. The mail is justclosing; and I must send this."

After Wilmer had received the kindly proffered relief from hisemployers, in an increase of salary, he was less troubled about thedaily wants of his family. But other sources of keen anxiety soonpresented themselves. His own health began to give way so rapidly asto awaken in his mind, fearful apprehensions of approachinginability to support his family; and Constance was not strong. Toooften, the pain in his breast and side was so severe as to make hisplace at the desk little less than torture. A confirmed, short, drycough, not severe, but constant, also awakened his liveliest fears.

At the end of a year from the time when his employers began to feela kind interest in him, he was removed from the desk, and given moreactive employment as salesman and out-of-door clerk. The benefit ofthis change was soon felt. The pain in his breast and side graduallygave way, his appetite increased, and his cough became less and lessirritating. But this improvement was only temporary. The disease hadbecome too deeply rooted. True, he suffered much less than whileconfined at the desk, but the morbid indications were too constantto leave him much of the flattery of hope.

Another year gradually rolled away, and with it came more changes,and causes of concern. A little stranger had come into his family,making three the number of his babes, and adding to the list of hiscares and his expenses; and it must also be said, to his pleasures.For what parent, with the heart of a parent, be his condition whatit may, but rejoices in the number of the little ones whose eyesbrighten at his coming? But there was a change of greater importancein his prospects. The firm in whose service he was, became involvedand had to wind up their business. All the clerks were in a shorttime discharged, and Wilmer among the rest. The time was one ofgreat commercial pressure, and many long-established houses wereforced to yield; others were driven to great curtailment ofexpenses. The consequence was that few were employing clerks, andmany dispensing with their services. Under the circumstances, Wilmerfound it impossible to obtain employment. Daily did he call at thevarious stores and counting-rooms in the hope of meeting with asituation, only to return to his dwelling more depressed anddisheartened.

By great economy, in view of approaching ill health, he had managedto lay up, since the increase in his wages, nearly the amount ofthat increase. He had done this, by living upon the same amount thathe before found to be inadequate to the support of his family. Howthis was done, they only can know who have resolutely, fromnecessity, made the same experiment, and found that the real amountnecessary to live upon is much smaller than is usually supposed.This sum, about one hundred dollars, he had when he was thrown outof employment scarcely enough to last for three months, under theirpresent expenses. It was with painful reluctance that Wilmertrespassed upon this precious store, but he found necessity a hardtask-master.

Amid the gloom and darkness of his condition and prospects, therewas one bright star shining upon him with an ever-constant light. Nocloud could dim or obscure it. That light, that cheerful star, wasthe wife of his bosom. The tie that bound her to her husband was notan external one alone; she was wedded to him in spirit. Heraffection for him, as sorrow, and doubt, and fearful foreboding ofcoming evils gathered about him, assumed more and more of themother's careful and earnest love for the peace of her child. Shemet him with an ever-cheerful countenance; gently soothed his fears,and constantly referred him to the overruling care of DivineProvidence. Affliction had wrought its proper work upon heraffections, and as they became gradually separated from the world,they found a higher and purer source of attraction. From athoughtless girl, she had become a reflecting woman, and withreflection had come. a right understanding of her duties. An angelof comfort is such a woman to a man of keen sensibilities, who findshis struggle in the world a hard and painful one.

Two months passed away in the vain effort to obtain employment.Every avenue seemed shut against him. The power of endurance wastried to its utmost strength, when he was offered a situation in aniron-store, to handle iron, and occasionally perform the duties of aclerk. Three hundred dollars was the salary. He caught at it, as hislast hope, with eagerness, and at once entered upon his duties. Hefound them more toilsome than he had expected. The business was aheavy one, and kept him at fatiguing labour nearly the whole day.Never having been used to do hard work, he found on the morning ofthe second day, that the muscles of his back, arms, and legs, wereso strained, that he could hardly move himself. He was as sore as ifhe had been beaten with a heavy stick. This, however, in a greatmeasure, wore off, after he began to move about; but he found hisstrength giving way much sooner on this day than on the precedingone. At night, his head ached badly, he had no appetite, and wasfeverish. On the next morning, however, he went resolutely to work;but he felt so unfit for it, that he finally, referring in his ownmind to what he had suffered on a former occasion by not explaininghis true situation, determined to mention to his new employer how hefelt. and ask a little respite for a day or two, until his strengthshould return. He, accordingly, left the large pile of iron which hehad commenced assorting, and entered the counting-room. He felt agreat degree of hesitation, but strove to keep it down, while hesummoned up resolution to utter distinctly and mildly his request.

The man of iron was busy over his bill-book when Wilmer sought hispresence, and looked up with a stern aspect.

"I feel quite sick," began Theodore, an older man than his employer,"from working beyond my strength for the last two days, and shouldbe very glad if you could employ me at something lighter for as longa time, until I recover myself, when I will be much stronger thanwhen I began, and able to keep steadily on. I have never been usedto hard labour, and feel it the more severely now."

Mr.--looked at him with a slight sneer for a moment, and thenreplied,--

"I can't have any playing about me If my work suits you, well; ifnot, there are a plenty whom it will suit."

Silently did Wilmer withdraw from the presence of the unfeeling man,and turned with aching limbs to his toilsome work.

At night he found himself much worse than on the preceding evening;and on the ensuing morning he was unable to go to the store. It wasnearly a week before he could again find his way out, and then hewas in a sadly debilitated state, from the effects of a feverbrought on by over-exertion. He went to the iron-store, and formallydeclined his situation. No offer was made to reengage him, and as heturned away from the door of the counting-room, he heard the manremark, in a sneering under-tone to a person present, "a poormilk-sop!"

Generally, the unfortunate are stung to the quick by any reflectionupon them by those in a better condition; and few were more alive toridicule than Wilmer. Both the condition and the constitutionalinfirmity combined, made the remark of Mr.--produce in his bosom atempest of agitation; and for a moment he was roused from his usualcalm exterior; but he recovered himself as quick as thought, andhurried away. He did not go directly home, but wandered listlesslyabout for several hours. When he returned at the usual dinner hour,he found his wife busily engaged in preparing dinner. Her babe wasasleep in the cradle, by which sat the eldest boy, touching it withhis foot, while the other little one, about four years old, wasprattling away to her baby-doll.

"Why Constance, where is Mary?"

"She has gone away," was the smiling reply.

"How comes that? I thought she appeared very well satisfied."

"She was very well pleased with her place, I believe; but as I havetaken it into my head to do without her, and am a very wilfulcreature, as you know, why, there was no remedy but to let her getanother place. So I told her as much this morning, and she hasalready found a pleasant situation--not so good, however, as this,she says. Come, don't look so serious about it! Theodore can bringwater for me, and you can cut the wood, and among us we will do verywell. It is a pity if two people can't take care of themselves, andthree other little bodies besides. And just see what we willsave?--Four dollars a month for her wages, and her boarding into thebargain. And you know, Mary, though a kind, good sort of a body, andvery industrious and obliging, eat almost as much as all the rest ofus together."

"Well, Constance, put as good a face upon the matter as you can, butI feel that stern necessity has brought you to it."

"You must not talk so much about 'stern necessity,' Theodore. It issurely no great hardship for me to sweep up the house every morning,and get the little food we eat. I know that our income is cut off,for I don't suppose you are going back to that iron-store again. Butthere will be a way opened, for us. The kind Being who is trying usfor our good will not leave us in our last extremity. It is for usto do the best we can, with what we can get. Now that our certainresources are withdrawn, it is for us to limit our expenses to thesmallest possible sum. We have, it is true, lived quite frugally forthe past year. But it is possible for us to live on much less thanthe five hundred dollars that it has cost. Our servant's wages andboarding were at least one hundred dollars; and by the presentretrenchment we save that sum, and shall live just as comfortably,for now we will all help to take care of each other."

"So far so good, my comforter! But where will the four hundreddollars come from?"

"Well, let us go on. We pay one hundred and fifty dollars for thishouse. By going out upon the suburbs of the town, we can get apleasant little house for five dollars a month."

"O, no, Constance, you are too fast."

"Not at all. I have seen just the little place that will suit us.The house is not old, and everything around is sweet and clean. Andit's plenty big enough for us."

"Well, Constance, suppose by so doing we reduce our expenses tothree hundred and ten dollars. Where is that sum to come from? Ican't get any work."

"Don't despair, Theodore! We shall not be forsaken. But we must dofor ourselves the best we can. I have been turning over a plan in myhead, by which we can live much cheaper and a great deal happier;for the less it takes us to live, the less care we shall have aboutit."

"Go on."

"By moving into a smaller house, we can dispense with a great manythings which will then be of no use to us. These will bring us fromtwo to three hundred dollars, at public sale. Good furniture, youknow, always brings good prices."

"Well."

"With this money, we can live in a smaller house, without anyservant, for nearly a year; and surely you will get something to doby next spring, even if you should be idle all winter."

Wilmer kissed the cheek of his wife, now glowing with the excitementof cheerful hope, with a fervent and heartfelt affection, andmurmuring in a low voice--"My comforting angel!" turned with alighter heart than had beat in his bosom for months, to caress thelittle girl, who was clamouring for her usual kiss.

That afternoon was spent in discussing the proposed retrenchment,and in going to look at the little house which Mrs. Wilmer hadmentioned. It was small, but neat, and had a good yard, with a pumpat the door. They decided at once to take it, and obtainedpossession of the key.

No time was lost in offering their superfluous furniture at publicsale; and to the satisfaction of both Wilmer and his wife, theauctioneer returned them, after deducting his commissions, the netsum of three hundred dollars.

In one week from the time of Mrs. Wilmer's proposition, they weresnugly packed away in their new residence.

Late in the fall, Wilmer obtained a situation as collector for oneof the newspaper offices, on a salary of four hundred dollars. This,under the reduced expense system, and with the surplus on hand,afforded them ample means. The exercise in the open air which itallowed him, was greatly conducive to his health, and he soon showedconsiderable improvement in body and mind. Things went on smoothlyand satisfactorily until about Christmas, when he took a violentcold, on a wet day, which fell upon his lungs, and soon brought himto a very weak state. From this, his recovery was so slow, and hisprospect of health so unpromising, that he found it a matter ofnecessity to decline his situation, which was retained for him aslong as the office could wait.

During the whole of the remaining inclement weather of the winterseason, he found it necessary to keep within doors, as he invariablytook cold whenever he ventured out.

Perceiving the failure of her husband's health to be certainly andrapidly progressing, Mrs. Wilmer dwelt in her own mind with painfulsolicitude upon the probable means of support for them all, when hisstrength should so entirely give way, as to render him altogetherunfitted for business. The only child of over-fond parents, rich inthis world's goods, she had received a thorough, fashionableeducation, which fitted her for doing no one thing by which shecould earn any money. Her music had been confined to a fewfashionable waltzes and overtures; her French and Spanish werenearly forgotten, and her proficiency in drawing and embroidery hadnever been very great. In her girlish days she could dancegracefully, and talk fashionable nonsense with a bewitching air whenit became necessary to amuse some sprig of fashion, or wield goodplain common sense with common sense people, when occasion calledfor it. But as to possessing resources in herself for getting aliving in the world, that was another matter altogether. But thereis a creative power in necessity, which acts with wonderful skillwhen the hour of trial comes. That hour had come with Constance, andshe steadily cast about her for the means of earning money.

Next door to where she lived was a widow woman with three grown-updaughters, who were always busy working for the clothing-stores, or"slop-shops," as they were called. She had made their acquaintanceduring the winter, and found them kind and considerate of others,and ever ready with an encouraging word, or serious advice whencalled for. The very small compensation which they received fortheir work, encouraged her but little, when she thought of obtainingsomething to do in the same way. But the more she thought of othermeans, the less she found herself fitted for doing anything else,and at last determined to learn how to make common pantaloons, thatshe might have some resource to fly to, when all others failed. Shefound her kind neighbours ready to give her all the instruction sheneeded, and they also kindly offered to introduce her to the shopswhenever she should determine to take in work. It did not take herlong to learn, and soon after she had acquired the art, as herhusband's health still continued to decline, she began, in oddtimes, to make common pantaloons and vests, for which she receivedthe meagre compensation of twelve-and-a-half cents each. It took herabout one-half of her time, actively engaged, to attend to herfamily.

During the remaining half of each day and evening, she would make avest or a pair of pantaloons, which at the end of the week wouldbring her in seventy-five cents. When she looked at this small sum,the aggregate of a week's labour, during leisure from the concernsof her family, she felt but little encouraged in prospect of havingthe whole of her little family dependent upon her; and for someweeks she entertained, in the silence of her own heart, a sickeningconsciousness of coming destitution, which she might in vainendeavour to prevent. Gradually her mind reacted from this painfulstate, and she gave daily diligence to her employments, entertaininga firm trust in Divine Providence.

As the spring opened, her husband's health revived a little, and hefound employment at a small compensation in a retail dry-goodsstore. This just suited his strength and the state of his health,and he continued at it for something like three years. During thisperiod nothing of material interest occurred, and we pass it over insilence.

The long-looked-for, long-dreaded time, when Wilmer's health shouldentirely give way, at length came; and although through the kindnessof his employers he had been retained in the store long after he wasable to do his full duty, yet at last he had to give up.

It would require a pen more skilled to portray the workings of thehuman heart, than mine, to sketch his real feelings, when hereceived his last month's wages; the last that he felt he would everearn for his family, and turned his steps homeward. He loved thewife who had forsaken the wealth and comfort of a father's house,and had been all in all to him through sunshine and storm, with deepand tearful affection; he would have sacrificed everything for her;and yet for years had he been compelled to see her toil for aportion of the bread that nourished her and her children. He lovedhis little ones, with a yearning tenderness; the more fervently andpassionately, now that he could no longer minister to their wants.How could he meet them all on this evening, and see their dear facesbrighten up on his entrance, when he could no longer earn them food,or provide them with comforts? It was with a strong effort that hekept down his feelings. as he entered his home, now comprised in tworooms in the second story of an old house in Commerce street, wherethey had removed, to be nearer his place of business, the long walkhaving been too fatiguing for him, after standing behind the counterall day.

Mrs. Wilmer's quick eye at once detected a change in the expressionof her husband's countenance, but she said nothing. After tea, thechildren were all put to bed in the next room, and they were thenalone. Wilmer sat in deep thought by the table, shading his facewith his sand when his wife came in from the chamber where she hadbeen with the children. Twining her arm round his neck, she bentover him, and said, in a tone of tender concern--

"Why so thoughtful, Theodore?"

He did not reply for some moments, nor lift his head, and Constancewas about to repeat her question in a more earnest voice, when a hottear fell upon her hand. She had seen him often sorely tried andpainfully exercised, but had never known him to shed a tear. Therehad always been a troubled silence in his manner when difficultiespressed upon him, but tears moistened not his eyes. Well might herheart sink down in her bosom at that strange token of intensesuffering.

"Dear Theodore!" she said, in a changed tone, "tell me what it isthat troubles you!"

A shuddering sob was the only reply, as he leaned his head back uponher bosom.

"Say, dearest, what has happened?"

The tears now fell from his eyes like rain, and sob after sob shookhis frame convulsively.

Constance waited in silence until the agitation subsided, and thengently urged him to tell her what it was that troubled him sopainfully.

"I am broken in spirits now, Constance. I am a weak child. I havereceived the last blow, and manhood has altogether forsaken me."

"Tell me! oh, tell me! Theodore, all, all! Do not distress me byfurther silence, or mystery!"

A pause of some minutes succeeded, during which Wilmer was makingstrong efforts to overcome his feelings.

"Constance," he at length said, mournfully, "I have tried long, andmuch beyond my strength, to earn the small sum that it took tosupport our little ones; but nature has at last given way. Here isthe last dollar I shall probably ever earn, and now I shall be aburden upon you, eating the bread of my children, while they, poorthings, will hunger for the morsel that nourishes me. I do notwonder that manly feelings have passed away with my strength.Constance, what shall we do?"

An angel of comfort is woman to life's last extremity.

Fragile as a reed, that bends to the passing breeze, when thesunshine of prosperity is bright above and around, she becomes thetall oak, deep-rooted and strong-branched, when the wintry storms ofadversity sweep over the earth. No trial subdues her, no privationbrings a murmur of discontent. She will hope to the last, and stillhave a smile of assurance for those who, in their despondency, haveeven cast away hope. Constance Wilmer was a woman, and as a woman,her worth was felt more and more, as troubles came thicker andfaster.

"Dear husband!" she said, in a steady and cheerful voice, "you haveforgotten that line, so true and so comforting--"'Despair is neverquite despair'--

"I see no cause for such painful feelings. Pinching want is not uponus yet, and I am sure the time will never come when our childrenshall ask food at our hands in. vain. Trial, which is always for ourgood, will never reach beyond the point of endurance."

"The burden is all upon you, Constance. Heaven grant that you mayhave strength to bear it!"

"I fear not for the strength. That will come in due time. Now wehave food and raiment, and therewith let us be content. If God soclothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow iscast into the oven, will he not clothe us? He that feedeth the youngravens when they cry, will not turn away from us. Are we not of morevalue than many sparrows?"

"Bless you! bless you! Constance."

"Do not, then, dear husband! cast away your confidence. If theburden is to be all upon me, it will be lightened by your cheerfulcountenance and encouraging words. I shall need them both,doubtless; then do not withhold them."

Her voice lost its steadiness, trembled a moment, and then she hidher face, in silence and in tears, upon his bosom.

As Wilmer had foreseen, the strength for further labour was gone forever. He lingered about for a few weeks, and then took to his bed.And now came the time for the full trial of Mrs. Wilmer's mental andbodily strength.

Notwithstanding all her close application at the needle, the smallsum that had been saved from former earnings, slowly, but steadilydiminished. Daily she increased her exertions, and encroachedfurther upon the hours of rest; but still there was a steadywithdrawal of the hoarded treasure. At first, her confidence in theDivine Providence was measurably shaken; but soon the waveringneedle of her faith turned steadily to its polar star. Her ownhealth, never vigorous, began also to give way under the increasedapplication which became necessary for the support of the belovedones, now entirely dependent upon her labour for food and raiment.Her appetite, never very good, failed considerably, and consequentlythere was a withdrawal instead of an increase of strength. But noneknew of her pain or weakness. Her pale face was ever a cheerful one,and her voice full of tenderness.

When the next spring opened, Wilmer was not only confined to thehouse, but unable to sit up, except for a few hours at a timethrough the day. His wife's health had suffered much, and all thehours she sat at her needle, were hours of painful endurance. Springpassed away, and summer came. But the milder airs had no kind effectupon the fast sinking frame of her husband. He was rapidly goingdown to the grave, his last hours embittered by the sight of hiswife and children suffering before him.

During the month of August, Wilmer declined so fast, and needed suchconstant attention, that his wife could find but little time todevote to her needle. What she thus lost in the day-time, she had tomake up, as far as possible, by encroaching upon the night hours,and often the lamp by her side would grow dim before the light ofday, while she still bent in weariness and pain, over the work thatwas to give bread to her children.

For some months her work had been confined to one shop, the masterof which was not always punctual in paying her the pittance sheearned. Instead of handing her, whenever she called, the trifle dueher, he made her procure a little book in which he would enter thework, promising to pay when it would amount to a certain sum. Inanxious hope would Mrs. Wilmer wait until her earnings rose to therequired amount; but not always then could she get her due; therewould too frequently be a part payment, or a request to call in aday or two.

One day towards the first of September, she found that both food andmoney were out. She was just finishing a couple of vests for theclothing-shop, and there were more than three dollars due to her.While turning over in her own mind the hope that Mr.--would payher the small sum due, when she carried in the work, and troubledthe While with fears lest he should deny her, as he had often donebefore; her husband, whose bright eye had been upon her for sometime, and whose countenance, unseen by her, had expressed anearnest, yet hesitating desire to ask for something, said--

"Constance, I don't know whether you are able to get them, but ifyou can, I should like, above all things, to have some grapes."

"Then you shall have some," Constance replied, earnestly andaffectionately. "I am sure they will help you. Why did I not thinkof this for you long ago?"

Resuming her needle, she plied it with double swiftness, her hearttrembling lest when she asked for her money at the shop, it shouldbe refused her. At last the work was done and she carried it in. Itwas entered, and her book handed back to her. She paused a moment,then turned to go out, but she could not go home without some money.Hesitatingly she asked to have her due, but it was refused on someexcuse of having a large payment to make on that very day. Again sheturned to go, but again turned to ask for only a part of what washer own. One dollar was thrown her with an unkind remark. The firstshe seized with avidity, the last passed her ear unheeded.

How swiftly did she hurry home with her little treasure! moreprecious than a hundred times the sum had ever been before. It wasto meet the first expressed want of her husband, to gratify whichshe would herself have abstained days from food.

The grapes were soon obtained, with some bread, and a small portionof meat, for the children. They proved very grateful and refreshingto Wilmer, who, soon after he had eaten a few of them, fell into agentle sleep.

The food which Mrs. Wilmer had bought would last them probably abouttwo days--not longer. Two months' rent would be due in a week,amounting to eight dollars. Their landlord had threatened to takesome of their things to satisfy the last months' rent, and she hadlittle hope of his being put off longer than the expiration of thetwo months. There were still two-and-a-half dollars due her by thekeeper of the clothing-store, which she knew it would be almost ashard to get as to earn.

Not disposed, however, to sit down and brood over her difficulties,which only made them worse, she went to work in the best spiritpossible to overcome them. She obtained more work, and bent herselfagain over her daily employment.

She was sitting with an aching head and troubled heart at her workon the next morning, having only sought a brief repose through thenight, when a smart tap at the door roused her from her abstractionof mind.

"Does Mrs. Wilmer live here, ma'am?" asked a man.

"That is my name."

"Then I am directed to leave this basket,"--and the man depositedhis burden on the floor, and was gone before another word could bespoken.

Mrs. Wilmer stood for a moment in mute surprise, and then removedthe covering off the basket. It contained tea, coffee, sugar, rice,meat, bread, and various other articles of food; and also, a letterdirected to "Constance Wilmer." She broke the seal with an anxiousand trembling heart. It contained a fifty dollar note, and thesebrief words:--

"Put by your work--you are cared for--there is help coming, and nowvery nigh--be of good cheer!"

The coarse garment she still held in her hand, fell to the floor.Her fingers released themselves from it by an instinctive effortwhich she could not control. Her head reeled for a moment, and shesunk into a chair, overcome by a tumult of contending feelings. Fromthis, she was aroused by the voice of her husband, who anxiouslyinquired the contents of the letter. He read it, and saw theenclosure, and the supply of food in the basket, and then claspedhis hands and looked up with mute thankfulness to heaven. Mrs.Wilmer obeyed, with a confidence for which she could not account,the injunction of her stranger-friend, and almost hourly for thefirst day referred to the characters of the letter, which seemedfamiliar to her eye. That she had seen the writing before, she wascertain; but where, or when, she could not tell.

Relieved from daily care and toil, she had more time to give to hersick husband. She found him nearer the grave than she had supposed.

Four days more passed away, and Wilmer had come down to the verybrink of the dark river of death.

It was night. The two younger children were asleep, and the oldestboy, just in his tenth year, with his mother, stood anxiously overthe low bed, upon which lay, gasping for breath, the dying husbandand father. The widow, who cannot forget the dear image of herdeparted one; the orphan, who remembers the dying agony of a fondfather, can realize in a great degree the sorrows which pressed uponthe hearts of these lone watchers by the bed of death.

The last hours of Wilmer's life were hours of distinctconsciousness.

"Constance," he whispered, in a low difficult whisper, while hisbright eyes were fixed upon her face--"Constance, what will you dowhen I am gone? I am but a burden on you now; but my presence I feelis something."

His stricken-hearted wife could make no answer; but the tears rolledover her face in great drops, and fell fast upon the pillow of herdying husband.

"I cannot say, 'do not weep,'" continued Wilmer. "O that I couldgive a word of comfort! but your cup is full, running over, and Icannot dash it from your lips:--Dear Constance! you have been to mea wife and a mother. Let me feel your warm cheek once more againstmine, for it is cold, very cold. Hark! did you not hear voices?" Andhe strained his eyes towards the door, half-lifting himself up.

For a few moments he looked eagerly for some one to enter, and thenfell back upon the bed with a heavy sigh, murmuring to himself, in alow disappointed tone--

"I thought they were coming."

"Who, love?" asked Mrs. Wilmer, eagerly. But her husband did notseem to hear her question; but lay gasping for breath, the musclesof his neck and face distorted and giving to his countenance theghastly expression of death.

"Who, love?--who were coming?" eagerly asked Mrs. Wilmer again, herown heart trembling with a recurrence of the vague hopes with whichthe mysterious letter and timely supply had inspired her,--hopesthat had never been hinted to her husband. But it seemed that he hadgiven the incident his own interpretation.

But he heeded not her question. For some time mother and son againstood over him, in troubled silence. Perhaps half an hour had passedsince he had spoken, when a slight bustle was heard, on the stepsbelow, and then feet were heard quickly ascending, and hasteningalong the passage towards their chamber door.

"They come! They come!" half-shrieked the dying man, springing up inthe bed, and bending over towards the door, which was hastily flungopen. His eyes glared upon the two persons, a man and woman, bothwell advanced in life, as they entered. That one anxious gaze wasenough. Looking up into the face of Constance, against whose breasthis head had sunk, his countenance changed into an expression ofintense delight, and he whispered--

"They have come, Constance! they have come. Think of me as at restand happy. I die in peace!"

His eye-lids closed naturally--there was no longer any convulsiveplay of the muscles, and as an infant sinking into slumber, soquietly did Theodore Wilmer sleep the sleep of death.

One month from that night of sorrow, the darkest one in the manygloomy seasons of Mrs. Wilmer's life, might have been seen thischild of many afflictions, with her three little ones, at home inone of the most pleasant houses in the vicinity of New York. Therewas something sad and subdued in the expression of her pale face,but it was from the recollection of the past. Her mother, who tenyears before had cast her off as unworthy, now gazed upon her with alook of the intensest affection; and the father, who had sworn neverto call her his child, sat holding her thin white hand in his, andlistening to her first recital of all she had passed through sinceshe left the home of her childhood, while the tears fell from hiseyes in large drops, upon the hand that lay within his own.

THE END.

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