“If I could only add some new attraction to his home!” she murmured to herself, over and over again.

Sometimes she would hold her temples with both her hands, in the vain effort to still, by pressure, the throbbing arteries within, while she continued to think of her husband.

As tea-time drew near, Mrs. Wilkinson left Ella in the care of a domestic, and went into the kitchen to prepare some delicacy for the evening meal of which she knew her husband was fond; this engaged her for half an hour, and the effort increased the pain in her aching head.

The usual time at which Mr. Wilkinson came home arrived, and his wife, who had returned to her chamber, sat with her babe on her bosom, listening for the well-known welcome sound of her husband’s footsteps in the passage below.  Time glided by, yet she waited and listened in vain; and to the pleasant thoughts of the influence her love was to throw around him on that very evening, to keep him at home, began to succeed a fear, which made her heart faint, that he would not come home at all; or, at least, not until a late hour.

The sun went down, and stealthily the sober twilight began to fall, bringing with it shadows and forebodings for the heart of the anxious wife.

How vainly she waited and watched!  The twilight was lost in darkness, and yet her eagerly listening ear failed to note the well-known sound of her husband’s footfall on the pavement, as she stood, listening at the open window.

“Oh! what can keep him so long away!”

How often did these words come sighing from her lips, yet there was no answer.  Alas! how to the very winds were flung the pleasant hopes she had cherished—­cherished with a sense of fear and trembling—­during the afternoon.

Night closed in, and the time wore on steadily, minute by minute, and hour by hour, until the poor wife was almost wild with suspense and anxiety.  The dainties she had so thoughtfully and lovingly prepared for her husband remained untasted, and had now become cold and unpalatable—­were, in fact, forgotten.  Food she had not, herself, tasted.  Once or twice a servant had come to know if she would have tea served; but she merely answered—­“Not until Mr. Wilkinson returns.”

Nine—­ten—­eleven o’clock; still Mrs. Wilkinson was alone.  Sometimes she moved restlessly about her chamber; or wandered, like a perturbed spirit, from room to room; and, sometimes in mere exhaustion, would drop into a chair or sink across the bed, and sit or lie as motionless as if in a profound sleep.

Ah! could her husband have looked in upon her, but for a few moments; could he have seen the anguish of her pale face; the fixed and dreamy expression of her tearful eyes; the grieving arch of the lips he loved—­could he have seen and comprehended all she suffered and all she feared, it must have won him back from his selfish folly.  And how many wives have suffered all this, and more!  How many still suffer!  Errant husband, pause, look upon the picture we have presented, and think of the many, many heart-aches you have given the tender, long-suffering, loving one who clings to you yet so closely, and who, for your sake, would even lay down, if needful, her very life.