"I don't care if I do," was the instinctive reply of Wilkinson, who
took up his hat as he spoke.

The two men left the store, and were, a little while after, taking a
lunch at a public house, and chatting over their brandy and water.

At the usual dinner hour, Wilkinson returned home. He did not fully
understand the expression of his wife's face, as she looked at him
on his entrance: it was a look of anxious inquiry. She sat with Ella
upon her lap: the child was sleeping.

"How is our little pet?" he asked, as he bent over, first kissing
his wife, and then touching his lips lightly to the babe's forehead.

"She's been in a heavy sleep for most of the time since morning,"
replied Mrs. Wilkinson, turning her face aside, so that her husband
could not see its changed expression.

Mr. Wilkinson's habitual use of brandy had long been a source of
trouble to his wife. In reviewing the painful incidents of the
previous evening, a hope had sprung up in her heart that the effect
would be to awaken his mind to a sense of his danger, cause him to
reflect, and lead to a change of habit. Alas! how like a fairy
frost-work fabric melted this hope away, as the strong breath of her
husband fell upon her face. She turned away and sighed--sighed in
her spirit, but not audibly; for, even in her pain and
disappointment, active love prompted to concealment, lest the shadow
that came over her should repel the one she so earnestly sought to
win from his path of danger.