“Do you mean by this that you are afraid I will never return the money?”

“Oh, no,” replied Barling.  “But I don’t want to play against you any longer.  Your luck is bad.”

“I can beat you,” said Darlington.

“You hav’n’t done it to-day certainly,” answered Barling.

“Will you wait here a quarter of an hour?” asked Henry.

“For what?”

“I want to pay you off and begin again.  I am going for some money.”

“Yes, I’ll wait,” replied the young man.

“Very well.  I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

It was for this work and for this purpose that Henry Darlington came to his mother just at the moment the absence of Miriam and her purpose in leaving had been discovered.  The effect of the painful news on the young man has already been described.  From the time he became aware of the fact that Miriam had gone away with Burton for the purpose of becoming his wife, until ten o’clock at night, he was in an agony of suspense.  As the uncle could not be found at the office where he wrote, nor at the house where he boarded, it was concluded that he had reached the boat before its departure, and gone on with the fugitives in the train to New York.  Nothing was therefore left for the distressed family but to await his return.

How anxiously passed the hours!  At tea time Edith only made her appearance.  Henry and his mother remained in the chamber of the latter.  As for the young man, he was cast down and distressed beyond measure, vexing his spirit with self-accusations that were but too well founded.

“Oh, mother!” said he, while they were alone, starting up from where he had been sitting with his face buried in his hands—­“oh, mother! what evils have come through this opening of our house, for strangers to enter!  Miriam, our sweet, gentle, pure-hearted Miriam, has been lured away by one of the worst of men; and!”—­the young man checked himself a moment or two, and then continued—­“and I have been drawn away from right paths into those that lead to sure destruction.  Mother, I have been in great danger.  Until Barling and Mason came into our family, I was guiltless of any act that could awaken a blush of shame upon my cheek.  Oh, that I had never met them!”

“Henry!  Henry! what do you mean by this?” exclaimed Mrs. Darlington, in a voice full of anguish.

“I have been standing on the brink of a precipice,” replied the young man with more calmness.  “But a hand has suddenly drawn me away, and I am trembling at the danger I have escaped.  Oh, mother, will you not give up this mode of life?  We have none of us been happy.  I have never felt as if I had a home since it began.  And you—­what a slave have you been! and how unhappy!  Can nothing be done except keeping boarders?  Oh, what would I not give for the dear seclusion of a home where no stranger’s foot could enter!”

“Some other mode of living must be sought, my son,” replied Mrs. Darlington.  “Added to all the evils attendant on the present mode, is that of a positive loss instead of a profit.  Several hundred dollars have been wasted already, and daily am I going in debt.”