“Give yourself no more anxiety on this point, Emma,” her husband replied.  “I will be a free man again.  I will be to you and my dear child all that I have ever been.”

“May our Heavenly Father aid you to keep that resolution,” was the silent prayer that went up from the heart of Mrs. Martin.

The failing hope of. her bosom revived under this assurance.  She felt again as in the early years of their wedded life, when hope and confidence, and tender affection were all in the bloom and vigour of their first developement.  The light came back to her eye, and the smile to her lip.

It was about four months afterwards, that Mr. Martin was invited to make one of a small party, given to a literary man, as visiter from a neighbouring city.

“I shall not be home to dinner, Emma,” he said, on leaving in the morning.

“Why not, James?” she asked.

“I am going to dine at four, with a select party of gentlemen.”

Mrs. Martin did not reply, but a cloud passed over her face, in spite of an effort not to seem concerned.

“Don’t be uneasy, Emma,” her husband said, noting this change.  “I shall touch nothing but wine.  I know my weakness, and shall be on my guard.”

“Do be watchful over yourself, for my sake, and for the sake of our own dear child,” Mrs. Martin replied, laying her arm tenderly upon his shoulder.

“Have no fear, Emma,” he said, and kissing the yet fair and beautiful cheek of his wife, Mr. Martin left the house.

How long, how very long did the day seem to Mrs. Martin!  The usual hour for his return came and went, the dinner hardly tasted; and then his wife counted the hours as they passed lingeringly away, until the dim, grey twilight fell with a saddening influence around her.

“He will be home soon, now,” she thought.  But the minutes glided into hours, and still he did not come.  The tea-table stood in the floor until nearly nine o’clock, before Mrs. Martin sat down with little Emma.  But no food passed the mother’s lips.  She could not eat.  There was a strange fear about her heart—­a dread of coming evil, that chilled her feelings, and threw a dark cloud over her spirits.

In the meantime, Martin had gone to the dinner-party, firm in his resolution not to touch a drop of ardent spirits.  But the taste of wine had inflamed his appetite, and he drank more and more freely, until he ceased to feel the power of his resolution, and again put brandy to his lips, and drank with the eagerness of a worn and thirsty traveller at a cooling brook.  It was nine o’clock when the company arose, or rather attempted to arise from the table.  Not all of them could accomplish that feat.  Three, Martin among the rest, were carried off to bed, in a state of helpless intoxication.

Hour after hour passed away, the anxiety of Mrs. Martin increasing every moment, until the clock struck twelve.