Violet stole again to the stool at his feet, and sat looking up in his face with the breathless interest of her years. Poor Agnes tried to draw away the hands from his face. He resisted her fretfully. Rose went softly about the room with the child, hushing its baby glee, and turning tearful eyes on Harry; but Martha stood, fixed as she had risen on his entrance, her hands firmly grasping the back of her chair, and her head bowed down. The tears of poor Agnes were falling upon his clasped fingers. Hastily the unfortunate young man uncovered his face. “I suppose I shall have to sit by the fire like John Rodger, and let you be a slave for me,” he exclaimed bitterly, clasping his wife’s hands. Agnes could do nothing but weep and murmur “Harry! Harry!” “I will work on the streets first--I will do anything,” said Harry, in hysteric excitement. “I am not broken down yet, Agnes, for all they say. I can work for you yet. I will _be_ anything, I will _do_ anything, rather than let want come to _you_.” And the little wife wept over the hands that convulsively clasped her own, and could only sob again, “Oh, Harry, Harry!” “Harry,” said Martha, “what have you done? Let us understand it clearly. Answer first one thing. Lift up your head, and answer me, Harry. Is the fault yours? Is it a misfortune or a sin?” He did not meet her earnest, anxious eye; but he answered slowly, “The fault is not mine, Martha. I was, indeed, exasperated; but it was not me. I am free of this, Martha; it was no blame of mine.” She looked at him with jealous scrutiny; she fancied there was a faltering in his voice, and that he dared not lift his eyes to meet her own, and the misery of doubt convulsed Martha’s heart. Could she believe him? “If it is so,” she said, with a calmness which seemed hard and cold to Rose, “I see no reason you have to be so much cast down. Agnes, do not cry. This working on the street is quite an unnecessary addition to the shock Harry has given us.” “_If_ it is so!” cried Harry, with quick anger. “Martha, do you not believe me? will you not trust my word?” “Be composed,” said Martha, herself sitting down with a hopeless composure quite unusual to her; “tell us what the cause is calmly, Harry. It is a great misfortune; but every misfortune is to be borne. Let us look at it without exaggeration; tell me the cause.” He had worn her patience out, and the aspect her exhaustion took was that of extreme patience. It surprised and hushed them all. Rose laid the baby in his cradle, and stealthily took up her work. Agnes withdrew her hand from Harry’s grasp; even he himself wiped his damp brow, and sat erect in his chair. “I went to-day to the Bank to get a cheque cashed,” he said, in his usual manner; “it was a small cheque, only fifty pounds, and I put the notes in my coat pocket. Everybody does it. I did in that respect just as I have always done; but I was robbed to-day--robbed of the whole sum.” “What then?” said Martha, breathlessly.