Thus they were, the child and the girl--Violet already cheered by the gentle voice of Rose, and Rose lightened with the fair fantastic light of her own thick-coming fancies. Neither forgot the sorrow which was parted from them only by these slight walls--neither yet could stay their involuntary tears--and the elder heart overflowed with pity and tenderness for poor Harry; but yet there were others than Harry in the world for both. Within that little room it was far otherwise. He was sitting there still, his clasped hands covering his face, and the cup of tea, which Agnes had poured out for him, standing untasted on the table. No one else had thought of beginning to this joyless meal. Agnes sat near him, leaning her arm upon his chair, touching his shoulder sometimes, and murmuring “Harry;” but he had not lifted his head. Opposite him, Martha sat very still, her eyes wandering about, her fingers convulsively clasped, her features moving. Sometimes she started suddenly, as if she could have dashed that aching brow of hers against the wall; sometimes a low unconscious moan escaped from her lips; and when, after wandering round the room, noting the little well-known peculiarities of its furniture, as people only do in their bitterest moments, her eyes turned to Harry lying motionless in his chair, with the damp hair clustering upon his brow, and his hands hiding his face, the anger and passion fled away from her brow like shadows. Poor Harry! in his weakness, in his sin--only so much the more her own--not the strong man now, for whom she had woven dreams of fond and proud ambition--but ever and always the dependent boy, the child she tended long ago--the unhappy lad over whom her heart yearned now as a mother. Martha rose--the tears came out from under her dry eyelids--a sad smile dawned upon the stern harsh features of her face. She laid her hand upon his shoulder. “Harry, Harry, is it worth all this misery? We have nothing but you--no hope in this world but you. Will you take it from us, Harry? Will you make us desolate?” The little wife looked up through her tears, begging forbearance. Poor Harry himself lifted his head, and grasped the hands she held out to him. “Never again--never again.” Her tears fell upon the clasped hands, and so did his. “Never again.” Violet crept to his side, and softly laid her little hand upon his arm. Agnes, weeping quietly, rested her head upon his shoulder, almost happy again in the reconciliation; and Rose stood behind his chair. Poor Harry! They all heard his vow; they all tried to take up their hope, and once more look fearlessly on the future. No one believed more devoutly than he did himself that now he could not fall again. No one was so confident as he that this sin was his last: “Never again.” Heavy, unseen tears flowed from under Martha’s closed eyelids that night, when all the rest were peacefully asleep--poor Harry first of all. Never again! The words moved her to anything but hope. Poor Harry!