“I didn’t understand you to say, certainly, that you would call, or I should have made it a point to be at home.  But no matter.  All in good time.  I’m on my way home now, and you will please return with me.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Wilkinson, who could not forget his promise to his wife.  “I told Mary, when I went out, that I would only be gone half an hour, and that time has expired already.”

“Oh, never mind,” returned the other, lightly.  “She’ll forgive you, I’ll be bound.  Tell her that you came home, in all obedience to her wishes, but that I met you at your own door, and carried you off in spite of yourself.”

And as Elbridge said this, he drew his arm within that of Wilkinson, and the two men went chatting away.

Elbridge was fond of good wine, and always kept a few choice bottles on hand.  Wilkinson knew this; and, if he had looked narrowly into his heart on the present occasion, he would have discovered that the wine of his friend had for him a stronger attraction than his company.

As the latter had anticipated, wine and cigars were produced immediately on their arrival at the house of Elbridge; and in the exhilaration of the one and the fumes of the other, he soon forgot his lonely, troubled wife and sick child at home.

A friend or two dropped in, in the course of half an hour; and then a second bottle of wine was uncorked, and glasses refilled with its sparkling contents.

The head of Wilkinson was not very strong.  A single glass of wine generally excited him, and two or three proved, always, more than he could bear.  It was so on this occasion; and when, at eleven o’clock, he passed forth from the house of his friend, it was only by an effort that he could walk steadily.  The cool night air, as it breathed upon his heated brow, partially sobered him, and his thoughts turned towards his home.  A sigh and the act of striking his hand upon his forehead marked the effect of this transition of thought.

“Poor Mary!  I didn’t mean to stay away so late.  I meant to return in half an hour,” he muttered, half aloud.  “But this is always the way.  I’m afraid I’ve taken too much of Elbridge’s wine; a little affects me.  I wonder if Mary will notice it; I wouldn’t have her to do so for the world.  Poor child! it would frighten her to death.  I rather think I’d better try to walk off the effects of what I’ve been drinking.  It’s late, any how, and fifteen or twenty minutes will make but little difference either way.”

As Wilkinson said this, he turned down a cross street which he happened to be passing at the moment, and moved along with a quicker pace.  Gradually the confusion of his thoughts subsided.

“I wish I had remained at home,” he sighed, as the image of his wife arose distinctly in his mind.  “Poor Mary!  I broke my word with her, though I promised so faithfully.  Oh, dear! this weakness on my part is terrible.  Why was I so anxious to see Elbridge? there was no real engagement, and yet I told Mary there was.  I would not have her know of this deception for the world.  I forgot about dear little Ella’s being so sick; what if we should lose that little angel?  Oh!  I could not bear it!”