But Mrs. Graham was soon reduced to such extremities, that he was driven off from her, with his wife, and forced to obtain employment by which to support himself and her.  As for the old man, he had managed, in the wreck of affairs, to retain a large proportion of his wines, and other choice liquors; and these, which no pressure of want in his family could drive him to sell, afforded the means of gratifying his inordinate love of drink.  His clothes gradually became old and rusty—­but this seemed to give him no concern.  He wandered listlessly in his old business haunts, or lounged about the house in a state of half stupor, drinking regularly all through the day, at frequent periods, and going to bed, usually, at nights, in a state of stupefaction.

When the boarding-house was given up, poor Mrs. Graham, whose health and spirits had both rapidly declined in the past two years, felt utterly at a loss what to do.  But pressing necessities required immediate action.

“Anna, child, what are we to do,” she said, rousing herself, one evening, while sitting alone with her daughters in gloomy abstraction.

“Indeed, Ma, I am as much at a loss as you are.  I have been thinking and thinking about it, until my min—­has become beclouded and bewildered.”

“I have been thinking, too,” said Mary, “and it strikes me that Anna and I might do something in the way of ornamental needlework.  Both of us, you know, are fond of it.”

“Do you think that we can sell it, after it is done?” Anna asked, with a lively interest in her tone.

“I certainly do.  We see plenty of such work in the shops; and they must buy it, of course.”

“Let us try, then, Mary,” her sister said with animation.

A week spent in untiring industry, produced two elegantly wrought capes, equal to the finest French embroidery.

“And, now, where shall we sell them?” Anna inquired, in a tone of concern.

“Mrs.—­would, no doubt, buy them; but I, for one, cannot bear the thought of going there.”

“Nor I. But, driven by necessity, I believe that I could brave to go there, or anywhere else, even though I have not been in Chestnut-street for nearly two years.”

“Will you go, then, Mary?” Anna asked, in an earnest, appealing tone.

“Yes, Anna, as you seem so shrinkingly reluctant, I will go.”

And forthwith Mary prepared herself; and rolling up the two elegant capes, proceeded with them to the store of Mrs.—­, in Chestnut-street.  It was crowded with customers when she entered, and so she shrunk away to the back part of the store, until Mrs.—­should be more at leisure, and she could bargain with her without attracting attention.  She had stood there only a few moments,—­when her ear caught the sound of a familiar voice—­that of Mary Williams, one of her former most intimate associates.  Her first impulse was to spring forward, but a remembrance of her changed condition instantly