I had gone one evening to a supper given by a bachelor friend, and returned late from the scene of mirth and revelry. As I walked rapidly down —— Place, for the night was chilly, and the street covered with snow, I saw two ladies alight from a carriage in front of Mrs. ——’s house. I hastened my pace; a thrill of joy penetrated my breast; it was she—my beloved, with her mother; and both were, by a happy chance, destined to be obliged to me. I sprung up the steps, murmured a “good evening,” and drew out my night-key. I was surprised to find how much courage, nay, even pride, I derived from the possession of this little instrument. Briefly apologizing to the ladies for thus venturing to save them the trouble of summoning a servant, I thrust the key in the lock, and turned it with all my force. It snapped violently; I drew out the fragment, and, to my horror, discovered that in my haste, I had not used the night-key, but the key of my chamber. “I really—beg ten thousand pardons,” I faltered—“it was the wrong key—” “The key is broken!” cried the shrill voice of Mrs. Elwyn. “It is dreadful to be kept standing here!” She pulled the bell furiously. In affright I pulled it also; the porter’s hurried steps were presently heard in the hall, and he was rattling at the lock. “Open the door!” cried the lady, impatiently. “I cannot unlock it!” said the man within; “there must be something in the key-hole.” “The broken key!” screamed Mrs. Elwyn, with an angry glance at me; “so officious, to insist—” “Mother!” pleaded the soft, low voice of Gertrude; for she saw that the dame was forgetting herself. “It must—it can—I will run for a locksmith!” I exclaimed. I saw that the carriage had driven off. “And we are to stand here alone, perhaps to be insulted by any drunken vagabond!” cried Mrs. Elwyn. “But go—nothing else can be done. Make haste—why do you wait?” A locksmith lived in the next street; I flew thither; by chance he was still up, and as soon as his tools could be collected, he hastened to the spot. There stood the angry lady, her teeth chattering with cold, her mantle covered with the snow-flakes that had begun to fall, murmuring at the delay; her daughter was leaning in silence against the side of the door; and within could be heard the grumbling of the porter. I could not see Gertrude’s face, even if I had been calm enough to read its expression.