“True, it isn’t much,” said Wilkinson.  “But even a small sum is of great importance when we have a good deal to pay, and just lack that amount, after gathering in all our available resources.  And that was just my position to-day.”  Why didn’t you call on me?” Mary smiled, with evident meaning as she said this.

“On you!” Wilkinson looked at her with a slight air of surprise.

“Yes, on me.  I think I could have made you up that sum.”

“You!”

A bright gleam went over the face of Mrs. Wilkinson, as she saw the surprise of her husband.

“Yes, me.  Why not?  You have always been liberal in your supplies of money, and it is by no means wonderful that I should have saved a little.  The fact is, John, I’ve never spent my entire income; I always made it a point of conscience to keep as far below it as possible.”

“Mary!” Beyond this simple ejaculation, Wilkinson could not go, but sat, with his eyes fixed wonderingly on the face of his wife.

“It is true, dear,” she answered, in her loving gentle way.  “I haven’t counted up lately; but, if I do not err, I have twice the sum you needed to-day; and, what is more, the whole is at your service.  So don’t let this matter of Ellis’s failure to return you the sum borrowed, trouble you in the least.  If it never comes back to you, the loss will be made up in another quarter.”

It was some moments before Wilkinson could make any answer.  At last, dropping the knife and fork which he held in his hands, he started from his place, and coming round to where his wife sat, drew his arms around her, and as he pressed his lips to hers, said with an unsteady voice—­

“God bless you, Mary!  You are an angel!”

Had she not her reward in that happy moment?  Who will say nay?

CHAPTER XIII.

On the morning that followed the fruitless attempt of Henry Ellis to make his wife comprehend the necessity that existed for an immediate reduction in their household expenditures, he did not get up until nearly ten o’clock.  For at least an hour before rising, he was awake, suffering in both body and mind; for the night’s debauch had left him, as was usually the case, with a most violent headache.  During all the time he heard, at intervals, the voice of Cara in the adjoining, talking to or scolding at the children; but not once during the time did she come into the chamber where he lay.  He felt it as a total want of interest or affection on her part.  He had done wrong; he felt that; yet, at the same time, he also felt that Cara had her share of the blame to bear.  If she had only manifested some feeling for him, some interest in him, he would have been softened; but, as she did not, by keeping entirely away, show that she thought or cared for him, the pure waters of right feeling, that were gushing up in his mind, were touched with the gall of bitterness.