“And for me, too,” thought Wilkinson.  “I should now, at least, be at home with my loving-hearted wife.  Ah, me!”

“Now, what am I to do, Jack—­say?  Give me your advice.”

“The first thing for you to do is to go home, and to go at once.  Come!”

And Wilkinson made another effort to rise; but the hand of Ellis bore him down.

“Stay, stay!” he muttered, impatiently.  “Now don’t be in such a confounded hurry.  Can’t you talk with an old friend for a minute or so?  Look here, I’ve been thinking—­let me see—­what was I going to say?”

The mind of Ellis was growing more and more confused; nor was the head of Wilkinson so clear as when he entered the bar-room.  The strong glass of brandy toddy was doing its work on both of them.

“Let me see,” went on Ellis, in a wandering way.  I was speaking of Cara—­oh, yes, of Cara.  Bless her heart, but confound her crooked temper!  Now, what would you advise me to do, my old friend?”

“Go home, I have said,” replied Wilkinson.

“And get my head combed with a three-legged stool?  No, blast me if I do!  I’ve stayed out this long just to make her sensible of her unkindness to one of the best of husbands—­and I’m not going home until I am dead drunk.  I guess that’ll bring her to her bearings.  Ha!  Don’t you think so, Jack?”

“Good heavens!” was just at this instant exclaimed by one of the inmates of the bar-room, in a low, startled tone of voice.

“Your wife, as I live!” fell from the lips of Ellis, whose face was turned towards the entrance of the bar-room.

Wilkinson sprang to his feet.  Just within the door stood a female form, her head uncovered, her under person clad in a white wrapper, and her face colourless as the dress she wore.  There was a wild, frightened look in her staring eyes.

“Is Mr. Wilkinson here?” she asked, just as her husband’s eyes rested upon her, and her thrilling voice reached his ears.

With a bound, Wilkinson was at her side.

“Oh, John!  John!” she cried, in a voice of anguish.  “Come home!  Come quick!  Our dear little Ella is dying!”

An instant more, and, to the inmates of the bar-room, the curtain fell upon that startling scene; for Wilkinson and his wife vanished almost as suddenly as if they had sunk together through the floor.

CHAPTER IV.

During the day on which our story opened, Henry Ellis had obtained from a friend the first volume of Prescott’s History of Mexico, then just from the press.  An hour’s perusal of its fascinating pages awakened in his mind a deep interest.

“Just the book to read to Cara,” said he to himself, closing the volume, and laying it aside.  “She’s too much taken up with mere fiction.  But here is that truth which is stranger than fiction; and I am sure she will soon get absorbed in the narrative.”

With his new book, and this pleasant thought in his mind, Ellis took his way homeward, after the business of the day was over.  As he walked along, a friend overtook him, and said, familiarly, as he touched him on the shoulder,