“Tight as a drum,” was answered.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” replied Ellis, showing more disappointment than he wished to appear; “for I have made some calculation on you.  I have nearly two thousand dollars to take care of in the next ten days.”

“I wish I could help you.  But, indeed, I can not,” said Wilkinson, looking serious.  “I have been a good deal crowded of late, and shall have my hands full, and more than full for some time to come.  I never knew money so tight as it is just now.”

“Nor I neither.  Well, I suppose we shall get through somehow.  But I must own that things look dark.”

“The darkest hour is just before the break of day,” said Wilkinson, with an earnestness that expressed his faith in what he said.  His faith was born of a resolution to separate himself from all dangerous companionship and habits, and a deeply felt conviction of the all-sustaining strength of his wife’s self-denying affection.

“Yes—­yes—­so the proverb says, and so the poet sings,” returned Ellis, thoughtfully.  “This seems to be my darkest hour.  God grant it be only the precursor of day!”

“Amen!” The solemn response of Wilkinson was involuntary.

“And so you can’t help me?” said Ellis, recovering himself, and speaking in a more cheerful voice.

“Indeed I cannot.”

“Well, help will come, I suppose.  There is nothing like trying.  So good morning.  Time is too precious to waste just now.”

Between the store of Wilkinson and that of Ellis was a refectory, where the latter often repaired for a lunch and something to drink about eleven or twelve o’clock.  It was now twelve, and, as Ellis had taken only a light breakfast, and omitted his morning dram, he felt both hungry and dry.  Almost as a matter of course, he was about entering this drinking-house, when, as he stepped on the threshold, his eyes rested on the form of Carlton, standing by the bar with a glass in his hand.  Quickly he turned away, and kept on to his store, where he quenched his thirst with a copious draught of ice-water.  Not a drop of liquor had passed his lips when he went home at dinner-time.  And he was as free from its influence when he joined his family at the close of day.  Cara received him with the kindness and consideration that were so grateful to his feelings; and he spent the evening, safe from all dangers, at home.

CHAPTER XVII.

“Will you have the money now, dear?” said Mrs. Wilkinson, as she arose, with her husband, from the dinner-table, on the day she announced to him the fact that she had saved a few hundred dollars, out of the amount given her for the expenses of the family.

“No, not to-day,” replied Wilkinson.  “In fact, Mary,” he added, “I don’t feel just right about taking your money; and I think I must manage to get along without it.”

“John!” Mrs. Wilkinson seemed hurt by her husband’s words.