nny in your charge; take precious care of her
for my sake. A great charge I leave with you, dearest--my boy and dear
Minny. You must be mother and sister till I come back."

"I will, love; truly is my charge a sacred one."

"Good-bye, my treasures."

"Good-bye."

She passed out to the carriage.

"Send Minny to me once again, Bernard."

Minny came.

Della threw her arms around her, and pressed her to her heart.

"I never parted from you before, dear Minny, and I can scarcely give you
up. Were it not that health demanded it, and a narrow purse forbade our
both going, this would have never been. There! don't cry, Minny; when we
meet, it will be never to part again."

Was there prophecy in those parting words?

As the carriage rolled away, Minny stood holding the heavy black curls
from her brow, gazing earnestly after it as long as she could see
Della's white handkerchief waving her adieu; then, bursting into a flood
of tears, she took the babe from its father's arms, and entered the
house.

Bernard was a good husband to Della, and loved her as dearly as it was
possible for him to love. But his marriage with her had not bettered his
fortunes, and he was a poor man. This sometimes induced him to indulge
in his old habits, in spite of Della's remonstrances, and tearful
assurances that they were rich enough, and surely very happy, if he
wouldn't follow these bad practices. He occasionally played high, in the
hope of mending his purse, and then drank deep, to drown his
disappointment. Several times since their marriage, he had gone home in
such a state as this; but, every time, Della's unfeigned distress had
called forth an earnest promise of amendment, which at the time he had
faithfully meant to fulfill. But now Della was gone, and her restraining
influence gone with her. She had been absent but a few days, when one
night Bernard stayed out very late; and Minny, tired of waiting up for
him, arranged the latch-key so that he might enter, and taking the baby
in her arms, retired with him to her own room. She had but just laid the
child upon his pillow when she heard his fathers step upon the stairs.
She knew instantly, by its unsteadiness, that he was intoxicated. She
did not disrobe, but, sitting down beside the bed, listened with painful
anxiety to hear him go quietly to rest in his own room. She sat almost
breathless, while a thrilling and undefinable dread crept through her
whole frame. The steps went slowly o