house. Repulsed by one pole, he felt the quick attraction of
another. Not a moment did he hesitate, on gaining the street, but
turned his steps toward the room of Jerome, where a party of gay
young men were to assemble for purposes of conviviality.

We will not follow him thither, nor describe the manner of his
reception. We will not picture the scene of revelry, nor record the
coarse jests that some of the less thoughtful of the company
ventured to make on the appearance of Ellis in their midst--for, to
most of his friends, it was no secret that his wife's uncertain
temper often caused him to leave his home in search of more
congenial companionship. Enough, that at eleven o'clock, Ellis left
the house of Jerome, much excited by drink.

The pure, cool night air, as it bathed the heated temples of Henry
Ellis, so far sobered him by the time he reached his own door, that
a distant remembrance of what had occurred early in the evening was
present to his thoughts; and, still beyond this, a remembrance of
how he had been received on returning at a late hour in times gone
by. His hand was in his pocket, in search of his dead-latch key,
when he suddenly retreated from the door, muttering to himself--

"I'm not going to stand a curtain lecture! There now! I'll wait
until she's asleep."

Saying which, he drew a cigar and match-box from his pocket, and
lighting the former, placed it between his lips, and moved leisurely
down the street.

The meeting with Wilkinson has already been described.