“Good-night!” the affectionate girl glided off, and retired to her chamber.

“Dear child!” Mrs. Martin murmured, as Emma left the room.  “My heart trembles when I think of you, and look into the dark and doubtful future!”

She then leaned her head upon her hand, and sat in deep, and evidently painful abstraction of mind.  Thus she remained for a long time, until aroused by the clock which struck the hour of ten.

With a deep sigh she arose, and commenced pacing the room backwards and forwards, pausing every now and then to listen to the sound of approaching footsteps, and moving on again as the sound went by.  Thus she continued to walk until nigh eleven o’clock, when some one drew near, paused at the street door, and then opening it, came along the passage with a firm and steady step.

Mrs. Martin stopped, trembling in spite of herself, before the parlour door, which a moment after was swung open.  One glance at the face of the individual who entered, convinced her that her solicitude had been unnecessary.

“Oh, James!” she said, the tears gushing from her eyes, in spite of a strong effort to compose herself,—­“I am so glad that you have come!”

“Why are you so agitated, Emma?” her husband said, in some surprise, looking inquiringly into Mrs. Martin’s face.

“You staid out so late—­and—­you know I am foolish sometimes!” she replied, leaning her head down upon his shoulder, and continuing to weep.

A change instantly passed upon Mr. Martin’s countenance, and he stood still, for some time, his face wearing a grave thoughtful expression, while his wife remained with her head leaning upon him.  At last he drew his arm tenderly around her, and said—­

“Emma, I am a sober man.”

“Do not, dear James! speak of that.  I am so happy now!”

“Yes, Emma, I will speak of it now.”  And as he said so, he gently seated her upon the sofa, and took his place beside her.

“Emma”—­he resumed, looking her steadily in the face.  “I have resolved never again to touch the accursed cup that has so well-nigh destroyed our peace for ever.”

“Oh, James!  What a mountain you have taken from my heart!” Mrs. Martin replied, the whole expression of her face changing as suddenly as a landscape upon which the sun shines from beneath an obscuring cloud.  “I have had nothing to trouble me but that—­yet that one trouble has seemed more than I could possibly bear.”

“You shall have no more trouble, Emma.  I have been for some months under a strange delusion, it has seemed.  But I am now fully awake, and see the dangerous precipice upon which I have been standing.  This night, I have solemnly resolved that I would drink no more spirituous liquors.  Nothing stronger than wine shall again pass my lips.”

“I cannot tell you how my heart is relieved,” the wife said.  “The whole of this evening I have been painfully oppressed with fear and dark forebodings.  Our dear little girl is now at that age, when her future prospects interest me all the while.  I think of them night and day.  Shall they all be marred?  I have asked myself often and often.  But I could give my heart no certain answer.  I need not tell you why.”