" said
he, as he raised the bills in his hands.

She sat beside him silent, and her eyes were hot and dry, not wet with
tears. There was a look of woe in her face so touching and appealing
that, when Abel happened to see it, he said, involuntarily,

"Come, come, don't be silly."

The evening came, and the Honorable Mr. Newt rose and walked about the
room.

"How slowly the time passes!" he said, pettishly. "I can't stand it."

It was nine o'clock. Suddenly he sprang up from beside Kitty Dunham, who
was silently working.

"No," said he, "I really can not stand it. I'll run over to town, and be
back by midnight. I do want to see the old place once more before that
long journey," he added, with emphasis, as he put on his coat and hat. He
ran from the room, and was just going out of the house when he heard a
muffled voice calling to him from up stairs.

"Why, Kitty, what is it?" he asked, as he stopped.

There was no answer. Alarmed for a moment, he leaped up the stairs. She
stood waiting for him at the door of the room.

"Well!" exclaimed he, hastily.

"You forgot to kiss me, Abel," she said.

He took her by the shoulders, and looked at her before him. In her eyes
there were pity, and gentleness, and love.

"Fool!" he said, half-pleased, half-vexed--kissed her, and rushed out
into the street.

CHAPTER LXXXVII.

A LONG JOURNEY.

Abel Newt ran to the ferry and crossed. Then he gained Broadway, and
sauntered into one of the hells in Park Row. It was bright and full, and
he saw many an old friend. They nodded to him, and said, "Ah! back
again!" and he smiled, and said a man must not be too virtuous all at
once.

So he ventured a little, and won; ventured a little more, and lost.
Ventured a little more, and won again; and lost again.

Then came supper, and wine flowed freely. Old friends must pledge in
bumpers.

To work again, and the bells striking midnight. Win, lose; lose, win;
win, win, lose, lose, lose, lose, lose, lose.

Abel Newt smiled: his face was red, his eyes glaring.

"I've played enough," he said; "the luck's against me!"

He passed his hands rapidly through his hair.

"Cash I can not pay," he said; "but here is my I O U, and a check of my
Uncle Lawrence's in the morning; for I have no account, you know."

His voice was rough. It was two o'clock in the morning; and the lonely
woman he had left sat waiting and wondering: stealing to the front door
and straining her eyes into th