hrough the frame of Kate at these words, so
full of meaning to her; but she dared not trust herself to make an
answer, lest she should do harm rather than good. And so they walked,
in silence, all the way home; Henry, who had accompanied his sister,
keeping a short distance behind them, so that his father had no
indication of his presence.

CHAPTER XXII.

How the hearts of the mother and her two oldest children trembled with
hope and fear! A marked change was apparent in Mr. Ellis when he came
home with Kate. He was sober, and very serious, but said nothing; and
Mrs. Ellis deemed it prudent to say nothing to him.

On the next morning, he did not rise early. Henry had eaten his
breakfast and was away to his work, and Kate had gone to market to get
something for dinner, when he got up and dressed himself. Mrs. Ellis
was ready for him with a good cup of coffee, a piece of hot toast, some
broiled steak, and a couple of eggs. She said little, but her tones
were subdued and very kind. Noticing that his hand trembled so that he
spilled his coffee in raising his cup to his lips, (his custom was to
get a glass of liquor before breakfast to steady his nerves,) she came
and stood beside him, saying, as she did so--"Let me hold your cup for
you."

Ellis acquiesced; and so his wife held the cup to his lips while he
drank.

"Oh, dear! This is a dreadful state to be in Cara!"

The exclamation was spontaneous. Had Ellis thought a moment, his pride
would have caused him to repress it.

Mrs. Ellis did not reply, for she was afraid to trust herself to speak,
lest her words or voice should express something that would check the
better feelings that were in the heart of her husband. But, ere she
could repress it, a tear fell upon his hand. Almost with a start, Ellis
turned and looked up into her face. It was calm, yet sorrowful. The
pale and wasted condition of that face had never so struck him before.

"Ah, Cara," said he, dropping his knife and fork, "it is dreadful to
live in this way. Dreadful! dreadful!"

The poor, almost heart-broken wife could command herself no longer; and
she laid her face down upon her husband and sobbed--the more
convulsively from her efforts to regain self-possession.

"Oh, Henry!" she at length murmured, "if the past were only ours! If we
could but live over our lives, with some of the experience that living
gives, how differently should we act! But, surely, hope is not clean
gone for ever!