“And how do you know, sir?”

“I received a letter from him three weeks ago, in which he stated the fact to me.  He has been in my employment ever since he has been away, but has left it and gone to Mexico.”

“When did he say he would return?” she asked, in a calm voice.

“That is uncertain, madam.”

She tottered out of the office, and stole home with an enfeebled step.  “Forsaken!—­forsaken!”—­was all the form her thoughts would take, until she met the sweet face of her babe, and then her heart felt warmer, and not all forsaken.

“Poor thing! how I pity her,” said the clerk in the stage-office, when Mrs. W. had retired.  “Her husband is a scoundrel, that’s all I know about it,” responded the gentleman-gambler, who had sent Warburton out on a swindling expedition.

“The more the pity for his poor wife.”

“I wonder if she has any property of his in her hands?” queried the gambler.

“Why?”

“Why?—­Why because I’ll have my own out of it if she has.  I have his note, payable in a week, for money lent; and if he has got a dollar here, I’ll have it.”

“You’ll not turn his wife out of doors, will you?”

“Will I?”—­and his face grew dark with evil thoughts.—­“Will I?—­yes!—­what care I for the whining wench!  I’ll see her to-morrow, and know what we have both to expect.”

“Coulson!” said the clerk, in an excited but firm voice—­“You shall not trouble that helpless, unfortunate woman!”

“Shall not? ha!  Pray, Mr. Sympathy, and how can you hinder me?”

“Look you to that, sir.  I act, you know, not threaten.”

The gambler’s face grew darker, but the clerk turned away with a look of contempt, and resumed his employment.

That night he sought the dwelling of Mrs. Warburton.  He found her boarding at a respectable house on—­street.  He named his business at once, and warned her not to allow herself to get in the power of Coulson, who was a gambler, and an abandoned villain.

When he understood her real situation—­that she was in debt for board, and without a dollar, forsaken of her husband, and among strangers, his heart ached for her.  Himself but on the salary of a clerk, he could give little or no assistance.  But advice and sympathy he tendered, and requested her to call on him at any time, if she thought that he could aid her.  A kind word, a sympathising tone, is, to one in such a sad condition, like gentle dews to the parched ground.

“Above all,” was his parting admonition, “beware of Coulson!  He will injure your character if he can.  Do not see him.  Forbid the servants to admit him.  He will, if he fixes his heart upon seeing you, leave no stone unturned to accomplish it.  But waver not in your determination.  And be sure to let me know if he persecutes you too closely.  Be resolute, and fear not.  I know the man, and have crossed his path ere this.  And he knows me.”