As soon as night had thrown her dark shadows over the city, the two young men took their steps towards one of those haunts, known, too appropriately, by the name of “hells.”  At eight o’clock, Theodore went in, with two hundred dollars in his pocket—­all the money he possessed;—­and at ten o’clock, came out penniless.

Lonely and long was the afternoon to the young bride, giving opportunity to many thoughts of a sober, and even saddening nature.  Evening came at last, and then night with its deeper gloom.  Eight o’clock arrived, and nine, but her husband did not return.  And then the minutes slowly passed, until the clock struck ten.

“O, where can he be!” Constance ejaculated, rising to her feet, and beginning to pace the room to and fro, pausing every moment to listen to the sound of passing footsteps.  Thus she continued for the space of something like half an hour, when she sunk exhausted upon a chair.  It was twelve o’clock when he at length came in.  As he opened the door, his young wife sprung to his side, exclaiming—­

“O, Theodore!  Theodore!  Why have you staid away so very long?”

As she said this, he staggered against her, almost throwing her over, and then passed on to the parlors without a word in return to her earnest and affectionate greeting.

Poor Constance was stunned for the moment.  But she quickly recovered, her woman’s heart nerving itself involuntarily, and followed after her husband.  He had thrown himself upon a sofa, and sat, half-reclining, with his head upon his bosom.

“Are you sick, dear Theodore?” his young wife asked, in a tone of deep and earnest affection, laying her hand upon him, and bending down and kissing his forehead.

“Yes, I am sick, Constance,” was the half-stupid reply—­

“Come, then, let me assist you up to bed.  A good night’s rest will do you good,” she said, gently urging him to rise.

She understood perfectly his condition.  She knew that it was intoxication.  But while it pained her young heart deeply, it awoke in her bosom no feelings of alarm.  She felt convinced that it was the result of accident, and had no expectation of ever again seeing its recurrence.  She asked him if he were sick, to spare him the mortification of knowing that she perceived the true nature of his indisposition.

Thus urged, he at once arose, and supported by the weak arm of his young wife, slowly ascended the stairs, and entered his chamber.  It was not many minutes before his senses were locked in profound slumber.

Not so, however, Constance.  The earnestness with which she had looked for evening to come, that she might again see the face, and hear the voice of her husband, had greatly excited her mind.  This excitement was increased by the condition in which he had so unexpectedly returned.  The effect was, to keep her awake, in spite of strong efforts to sink away into sleep.  Many sad and desponding thoughts forced themselves upon her, as she lay, hour after hour, in a state of half-waking consciousness.  It was nearly day-dawn, when, from all this, she found relief in a deep slumber.