“No—­no—­no—­Jane!” the poor wretch murmured, shaking his head, mournfully.  “Do not deceive your heart by false hopes, for they will all be in vain.  I cannot look up.  The heavens have become as brass to me.  I have forfeited all claim to success from above.  As I lifted the fatal glass to my lips, I heard a voice, whose tones were as distinct as yours—­’Let us go hence!’ and from that moment, I have been weak and unsustained in the hands of my enemies.  I am a doomed man!”

As he said this, a shrinking shudder passed through his frame, and he groaned aloud.  The silence that then reigned through the chamber was as appalling as the silence of death to the heart of Mrs. Marshall.  It was broken at length by her husband, who looked up with an expression of tenderness in her face, as she still stood with her hand upon him, and said—­

“Jane, my dear wife! let me say to you now, while I possess my full senses, which I know not that I ever shall again, that you have been true and kind to me, and that I have ever loved you with an earnest love.  Bear with me in my infirmity;—­if, amid the grief, and wrong, and suffering, which must fall upon you and your children, you can bear with the miserable cause of all your wretchedness.  I shall not long remain, I feel, to be a burden and a curse to you.  My downward course will be rapid, and its termination will soon come!”

A gush of tears followed this, and then came a stern silence, that chilled the heart of Mrs. Marshall.  She longed to urge still further upon her husband to make an effort to restrain the intense desire he felt, but could not.  There seemed to be a seal upon her lips.  Slowly she turned away to attend to her little ones, upon whom she now looked with something of that hopelessness which the widow feels, as she turns from the grave of her husband, and looks upon her fatherless children.

With a strong effort, Marshall remained in the house until breakfast was on the table.  But he could only sip a little coffee, and soon arose, and lifted his hat to go out.  His wife was by his side, as he laid his hand on the door.

“Jonas,” she said, while the tears sprang to her eyes, “remember me—­remember your children!” She could say no more; sobs choked her utterance—­and she leaned her head, weak and desponding, upon his shoulder.

Her husband made no reply, but gently placed her in a chair, kissed her cheek, and then turned hastily away, and left the house.

It was many minutes before Mrs. Marshall found strength to rise, and then she staggered across the room, like one who had been stunned by a blow.  We will not attempt the vain task of describing her feelings through that terrible day;—­of picturing the alternate states of hope and deep despondency, that now made her heart bound with a lighter emotion,—­and now caused it to sink low, and almost pulseless, in her bosom.  It passed away at last, and brought the gloomy night—­fall—­but not her husband’s return.  Eight, nine, ten, eleven, and twelve o’clock came, and went, and still he was absent.