sharp voice.

Twice more the bell was rung, and twice more the knocking was
repeated. Then all remained silent.

"Come, Esther!" said Mr. Howland to his wife, who was sitting on a
sofa, with her face buried in her hands. "Let us go up stairs. It is
late."

The mother did not stir.

"Esther! did you hear me?"

Slowly, more like a moving automaton than a living creature, did
Mrs. Howland arise from her place, and follow her husband up to
their chamber. There, without uttering a word, she partially
disrobed herself, and getting into bed, buried her tearful face in a
pillow. Mr. Howland was soon by her side. Both lay without moving
for nearly half an hour, and then the heavy respiration of the
husband told that he was asleep. The moment this was apparent, Mrs.
Howland, who had lain as still as if locked in deep slumber, crept
softly from the bed, and then, with a quick, eager motion, commenced
putting on a wrapper. This done, she drew a pair of slippers on her
feet, glided noiselessly from the room, and hurried down to the
street door, which she softly opened.

The mother had hoped to find her erring son still there. But, as she
looked anxiously forth into the darkness, no human form was
perceived.