wife lying across the bed, where, wearied with watching, she had thrown herself and fallen asleep.  For a few moments he stood looking at her, with a face in which agony and affection were blended.  Then he clasped his hands suddenly against his temples, and groaned aloud.  That groan penetrated the ears of his sleeping wife, who started up with an exclamation of alarm, as her eyes saw the gesture and expression of her husband.

“Oh, Henry! what is the matter?  Where have you been?  Why do you look so?” she eagerly inquired.

Mortimer did not reply; but continued standing like a statue of despair.

“Henry!  Henry!” cried his wife, springing towards him, and laying her hands upon his arm.  “Dear husband! what is the matter?”

“Ruined!  Ruined!” now came hoarsely from the lips of Mortimer, and, with another deep groan, he threw himself on a sofa, and wrung his hands in uncontrollable anguish.

“Oh, Henry! speak!  What does this mean?” said his wife, the tears now gushing from her eyes.  “Tell me what has happened.”

But, “Ruined!  Ruined!” was all the wretched man would say for a long time.  At last, however, he made a few vague explanations, to the effect that he would be compelled to stop payment on the next day.

“I thought,” said Mrs. Mortimer, “that the sale of this house was to afford you all the money you needed.”

“It is not sold yet,” was all his reply to this.  He did not explain that it was under a heavy mortgage, and that, even if sold, the amount realized would be a trifle compared with his need on the following day.  During the greater part of the night, Mortimer walked the floor of his chamber; and, for a portion of the time, his wife moved like a shadow by his side.  But few words passed between them.

When the day broke, Mrs. Mortimer was lying on the bed, asleep.  Tears were on her cheeks.  In a crib, beside her, was a fair-haired child, two years old, breathing sweetly in his innocent slumber; and over this crib bent the husband and father.  His face was now calm, but very pale, and its expression of sadness, as he gazed upon his sleeping child, was heart-touching.  For many minutes he stood over the unconscious slumberer; then stooping down, he touched its forehead lightly with his lips, while a low sigh struggled up from his bosom.  Turning, then, his eyes upon his wife, he gazed at her for some moments, with a sad, pitying look.  He was bending to kiss her, when a movement, as if she were about to awaken, caused him to step back, and stand holding his breath, as if he feared the very sound would disturb her.  She did not open her eyes, however, but turned over, with a low moan of suffering, and an indistinct murmur of his name.

Mortimer did not again approach the bed-side, but stepped noiselessly to the chamber door, and passed into the next room, where three children, who made up the full number of his household treasures, were buried in tranquil sleep.  Long he did not linger here.  A hurried glance was taken of each beloved face, and a kiss laid lightly upon the lips of each.  Then he left the room, moving down the stairs with a step of fear.  A moment or two more, and he was beyond the threshold of his dwelling.