When he was gone, she slipt on her bonnet and shawl, and thought she would take her watch and ear-rings, and a few little things, where her husband had twice taken them before, and whence she had redeemed them, after he had spent the money; for money he would have, and if she did not give it to him, he would steal her things and pawn them. He had done so now. All was gone, even her large Bible, the present of her dying mother. Her only alternative was to get a Jew to come and look at the furniture, and advance enough to pay the rent. On the way she thought she would take a dress home, and got the money for that. She knew it was going to a house of bad repute; she had been obliged to work for such, and on several occasions Walter had carried them home. It was a sort of perquisite with him to get the pay for such. She looked for the dress, that too was gone. There was another to go to the same house, which she could finish in about an hour. It was her only resource for the necessities of to-morrow. At nine o'clock she took it upon her arm and went out, and with trembling step, up to the door of a magnificent house, only one block from Broadway. As the door opened for her, half-a-dozen "up town bloods," came out. "I say," said one of them, before he was out of her hearing, "I say, Fred, that is Walt. Morgan's gal, let us go back and see the fun." The voice was familiar, though the bloated countenance of the roue was not. She had heard it before. It was George Wendall. "See the fun"--what could it mean? She felt like anything but fun. Is it fun for a man to see a woman's heart broken? They went on, Fred remarking, "she is dev'lish pretty; curse me if I don't try my hand there. I will walk into her affections." Such is the opinion of the roue--that the door of woman's affections is always open for every self-conceited puppy to walk in. Her heart was in her throat. She choked it down, and went in and inquired for Miss Nannette, and was shown up to her room. A gentleman was there, whom Nannette introduced as Mr. Smith, from the South. He might be from the South, but Athalia knew him to be a married man, with a sweet young wife and two children, in this city. The dress was to be tried on, and Nannette began to strip off without a blush. Athalia did blush, and did object, and would not stay. "Well, then, George, go down a few minutes to the parlor, that is a good soul, she is so fastidious." No, he did not want to be seen there; he would go home. "Well, then, give me some money to pay for making this dress. You gave me the stuff, you might as well go the whole figure." He handed her a ten dollar bill; she handed it to Athalia,--the dress was only five--remarking: "Give him the change; I won't take but a five out of it this time." Athalia had no change. She looked at him, to be certain of her man, and remarked: