housands on the street seeking purchasers at two per cent.
a month."

Just then the carriage of Mortimer drove up to his door, and Mrs.
Mortimer descended to the pavement and passed into the house. Her
face was pale, and had a look of deep distress. It was several years
since Mr. Johnson remembered to have seen her, and he was almost
startled at the painful change which had taken place.

A little while afterwards he looked upon the cheerful, smiling face
of his daughter Flora, and there arose in his heart, almost
involuntarily, an emotion of thankfulness that she was not the wife
of Mortimer. Could he have seen what passed a few hours afterwards,
in the dwelling of the latter, he would have been more thankful than
ever.

It was after eleven o'clock when Mortimer returned home that night.
He had been away since morning. It was rarely that he dined with his
family, but usually came home early in the evening. Since seven
o'clock, the tea-table had been standing in the floor, awaiting his
return. At eight o'clock, as he was still absent, supper was served
to the children, who, soon after, retired for the night. It was
after eleven o'clock as we have said, before Mortimer returned. His
face was pale and haggard. He entered quietly, by means of his
night-key, and went noiselessly up to his chamber. He found his wife
lying across the bed, where, wearied with watching, she had thrown
herself and fallen asleep. For a few moments he stood looking at
her, with a face in which agony and affection were blended. Then he
clasped his hands suddenly against his temples, and groaned aloud.
That groan penetrated the ears of his sleeping wife, who started up
with an exclamation of alarm, as her eyes saw the gesture and
expression of her husband.

"Oh, Henry! what is the matter? Where have you been? Why do you look
so?" she eagerly inquired.

Mortimer did not reply; but continued standing like a statue of
despair.

"Henry! Henry!" cried his wife, springing towards him, and laying
her hands upon his arm. "Dear husband! what is the matter?"

"Ruined! Ruined!" now came hoarsely from the lips of Mortimer, and,
with another deep groan, he threw himself on a sofa, and wrung his
hands in uncontrollable anguish.

"Oh, Henry! speak! What does this mean?" said his wife, the tears
now gushing from her eyes. "Tell me what has happened."

But, "Ruined! Ruined!" was all the wretched man would say for a long
time. At last, however, he made a