ung men and boys. Near the door was the
person I sought.

"Albert!" I called; and the young man came forward. His face was
darkly flushed, and his eyes red and glittering.

"Albert, your mother is going," I said.

"Give her my compliments," he answered, with an air of mock
courtesy, "and tell her that she has my gracious permission."

"Come!" I urged; "she is waiting for you."

He shook his head resolutely. "I'm not going for an hour, Mrs.
Carleton. Tell mother not to trouble herself. I'll be home in good
time."

I urged him, but in vain.

"Tell him that he _must_ come!" Mrs. Martindale turned on her
husband an appealing look of distress, when I gave her Albert's
reply.

But the father did not care to assert an authority which might not
be heeded, and answered, "Let him enjoy himself with the rest. Young
blood beats quicker than old."

The flush of excited feeling went out of Mrs. Martindale's face. I
saw it but for an instant after this reply from her husband; but
like a sun-painting, its whole expression was transferred to a leaf
of memory, where it is as painfully vivid now as on that
never-to-be-forgotten evening. It was pale and convulsed, and the
eyes full of despair. A dark presentiment of something terrible had
fallen upon her--the shadow of an approaching woe that was to burden
all her life.

My friend passed out from my door, and left me so wretched that I
could with difficulty rally my feelings to give other parting guests
a pleasant word. Mrs. Gordon had to leave in her carriage without
her sons, who gave no heed to the repeated messages she sent to
them.

At last, all the ladies were gone; but there still remained a dozen
young men in the supper-room, from whence came to my ears a
sickening sound of carousal. I sought my chamber, and partly
disrobing threw myself on a bed. Here I remained in a state of
wretchedness impossible to describe for over an hour, when my
husband came in.

"Are they all gone?" I asked, rising.

"All, thank God!" he answered, with a sigh of relief. Then, after a
moment's pause, he said--"If I live a thousand years, Agnes, the
scene of to-night shall never be repeated in my house! I feel not
only a sense of disgrace, but worse--a sense of guilt! What have we
been doing? Giving our influence and our money to help in the works
of elevating and refining society? or in the work of corrupting and
debasing it? Are the young men who left our house a little while
ago, as