“Well, you’ve no business to be up this late, let me tell you, madam.  And I’m not agoing to have it.  So bundle off to bed with you, in less than no time!”

“O Henry! how can you talk so to me?” poor Mary said, bursting into tears.

“You needn’t go to blubbering in that way, I can tell you, madam; so just shut up!  I won’t have it!  And see here:  I must have three hundred dollars out of that stingy old father of yours to-morrow, and you must get it for me.  If you don’t, why, just look out for squalls.”

As he said this, he threw himself heavily upon the bed, and came with his whole weight upon the body of his child.  Mrs. Fenwick screamed out, sprang to the bedside, and endeavoured to drag him off the little girl.  Not understanding what she meant, he rose up quickly, and threw her from him with such force, as to dash her against the wall opposite, when she fell senseless upon the floor.  Just at this moment, her father, who had overheard his first angry words, burst into the room, and with the energy of suddenly aroused indignation, seized Fenwick by the collar, dragged him down-stairs, and thence threw him into the street from his hall-door, which he closed and locked after him—­vowing, as he did so, that the wretch should never again cross his threshold.

All night long did poor Mrs. Fenwick lie, her senses locked in insensibility; and all through the next day she remained in the same state, in spite of every effort to restore her.  Her husband several times attempted to gain admittance, but was resolutely refused.

“He never crosses my door-stone again!” the old man said; and to that resolution he determined to adhere.

Another night and another day passed, and still another night, and yet the heart-stricken young wife showed no signs of returning consciousness.  It was toward evening on the fourth day, that the family, with Mrs. Martindale, who had called in, were gathered round her bed, in a state of painful and gloomy anxiety, waiting for, yet almost despairing again to see her restored to consciousness.  All at once she opened her eyes, and looked up calmly into the faces of those who surrounded her bed.

“Where is little Mary?” she at length asked.

The child was instantly brought to her.

“Does Mary love mother?” she asked of the child, in a tone of peculiar tenderness.

The child drew its little arms about her neck, and kissed her pale lips and cheeks fondly.

“Yes, Mary loves mother.  But mother is going away to leave Mary.  Will she be a good girl?”

The little thing murmured assent, as it clung closer to its mother’s bosom.

Mrs. Fenwick then looked up into the faces of her father and mother with a sad but tender smile, and said—­

“You will be good to little Mary when I am gone?

“Don’t talk so, Mary!—­don’t, my child!  You are not going to leave us,” her mother sobbed, while the tears fell from her eyes like rain.