ocked up, and he has never come in."

"If he comes we can unlock the house," said Nettie. "When did he go out,
and why didn't you tell me? Of course I should have let Mrs Smith know,
not to frighten her; but I told Fred pretty plainly last time that we
could not do with such hours. It will make him ill if he does not mind.
Go to bed, and I'll let him in."

"Go to bed! it is very easy for you to say so; don't you know it's the
middle of the night, and as dark as pitch, and my husband out all by
himself?" cried Susan. "Oh, Fred, Fred! after all the promises you made,
to use me like this again! Do you think I can go up-stairs and lie
shivering in the dark, and imagining all sorts of dreadful things
happening to him? I shall stay here with you till he comes in."

Nettie entered into no controversy. She got up quietly and fetched a
shawl and put it round her shivering sister; then sat down again and
took up her needlework. But Susan's excited nerves could not bear the
sight of that occupation. The rustle of Nettie's softly-moving hand
distracted her. "It sounds always like Fred's step on the way," said the
fretful anxious woman. "Oh, Nettie, Nettie! do open the end window and
look out; perhaps he is looking for the light in the windows to guide
him straight! It is so dark! Open the shutters, Nettie, and, oh, do look
out and see! Where do you suppose he can have gone to? I feel such a
pang at my heart, I believe I shall die."

"Oh, no, you will not die," said Nettie. "Take a book and read, or do
something. We know what is about the worst that will happen to Fred. He
will come home _like that_ you know, as he did before. We can't mend it,
but we need not break our hearts over it. Lie down on the sofa, and put
up your feet and wrap the shawl round you if you won't go to bed. I can
fancy all very well how it will be. It is nothing new, Susan, that you
should break your heart."

"It's you that have no feeling. Oh, Nettie, how hard you are! I don't
believe you know what it is to love anybody," said Susan. "Hark! is that
some one coming now?"

They thought some one was coming fifty times in the course of that
dreadful lingering night. Nobody came; the silence closed in deeper
and deeper around the two silent women. All the world--everything round
about them, to the veriest atom--seemed asleep. The cricket had stopped
his chirrup in the kitchen, and no mouse stirred in the slumbering
house. By times Susan dozed on the sofa, sh