Happily for Mrs. Wilkinson, her child lay in a sound sleep; for, with the appearance of the edges of two teeth through her red and swollen gums, the feverish excitement of her system yielded to a healthy reaction.

Twelve o’clock was rung out clearly upon the hushed air of midnight; and yet the poor wife was alone.  One o’clock found her in a state of agonized alarm, standing at the open street-door, and hearkening, eagerly, first in one direction and then in another; yet all in vain—­for the absent one came not.

It was nearly two o’clock, and Mrs. Wilkinson, in the impotence of her prolonged and intense anxiety and fear, had thrown herself, with a groan, across her bed, when a sound in the street caught her ear.  Instantly she started up, while a thrill ran through every nerve.  Feet were on the door-steps; a key was in the lock—­a moment more, and the door opened and shut, and a familiar tread that made her heart leap echoed along the passage.  Her first impulse was to fly to meet the comer, but a hand seemed to hold her back; and so, half reclining, she awaited, with her heart beating violently, the appearance of him whose strange absence had cost her so many hours of bitter anguish.  A moment or two more, and then an exclamation of surprise and almost terror, fell from her lips.  And well might she be startled at the appearance of her husband.

Pale, haggard, covered with dust, and with large drops of perspiration on his face, Wilkinson stood before his wife.  With a grieving look he gazed upon her for some moments, but did not speak.

“My husband!” exclaimed Mrs. Wilkinson as soon as she could recover herself; and, as she uttered the words, she threw her arms around him, and buried her weeping face on his bosom.

But Wilkinson tried to disengage her arms, saying, as he did so—­

“Not this!—­not this, Mary!  I am unworthy of even your feeblest regard.  Speak to me coldly, harshly, angrily, if you will.  That I deserve—­but nothing of kindness, nothing of love.  Oh, that I were dead!”

“My husband! my husband! you are dearer to me than life!” was whispered in reply, as Mary clung to him more closely.

Such evidences of love melted the strong man’s heart.  He tried to brace himself up against what, in his pride, he felt to be a weakness, but failed, and leaning his face downward until it rested upon the head of his wife, sobbed aloud.

CHAPTER IX.

Wilkinson, on leaving the presence of the man who, under the guise of friendship, had so basely led him astray, and robbed him—­it was robbery, in fact, for Carlton had not only enticed his victim to drink until his mind was confused, but had played against him with trick and false dealing—­passed, not by the bar-room of the hotel, but through one of the passages, into the open air, and with hurried steps, and mind all in a whirl of excitement, started on foot for home.  He was not in a state to consider exactly what he was doing—­he did not reflect that he was at least ten miles from the city, and that it would take him hours to walk that distance.  His predominant feeling was a desire to escape from the presence of the man who had so basely betrayed and almost ruined him.