the heaviest weight of infernal malice.  The husband and father too often becomes, in the hands of his evil associates, the cruel persecutor of those he should love and guard with the tenderest solicitude.  So it was in the case of Henry Ellis.  His manly nature underwent a gradually progressing change, until the image of God was wellnigh obliterated from his soul.  After the lapse of five miserable years, let us introduce him and his family once more to the reader.

Five years!  What a work has been done in that time!  Not in a pleasant home, surrounded with every comfort, as we last saw them, will they be found.  Alas, no!

It was late in the year.  Frost had already done its work upon the embrowned forests, and leaf by leaf the withered foliage had dropped away or been swept in clouds before the autumnal winds.  Feebler and feebler grew, daily, the sun’s planting rays, colder the air, and more cheerless the aspect of nature.

One evening,—­it was late in November, and the day had been damp and cold,—­a woman, whose thin care-worn face and slender form marked her as an invalid, or one whose spirits had been broken by trouble, was busying herself in the preparation of supper.  A girl, between twelve and thirteen years of age, was trying to amuse a child two years old, who, from some cause, was in a fretful humour; and a little girl in her seventh year was occupied with a book, in which she was spelling out a lesson that had been given by her mother.  This was the family, or, rather, a part of the family of Henry Ellis.  Two members were absent, the father and the oldest boy.  The room was small, and meagerly furnished, though every thing was clean and in order.  In the centre of the floor, extending, perhaps, over half thereof, was a piece of faded carpet.  On this a square, unpainted pine table stood, covered with a clean cloth and a few dishes.  Six common wooden chairs, one or two low stools or benches, a stained work-stand without drawers, and a few other necessary articles, including a bed in one corner, completed the furniture of this apartment, which was used as kitchen and sitting-room by the family, and, with a small room adjoining, constituted the entire household facilities of the family.

“Henry is late this evening,” remarked Mrs. Ellis, as she laid the last piece of toast she had been making on the dish standing near the fire.  “He ought to have been here half an hour ago.”

“And father is late too,” said Kate, the oldest daughter, who was engaged with the fretful child.

“Yes—­he is late,” returned Mrs. Ellis, as if speaking to herself.  And she sighed heavily.

Just then the sound of feet was heard in the passage without.

“There’s Henry now,” said Kate.

And in a moment after the boy entered.  His face did not wear the cheerful expression with which he usually met the waiting ones at home.  His mother noticed the change; but asked no question then as to the cause.