One cab after another whirled by, their occupants in many instances looking back to catch another glimpse of that perfect face with its wistful expression which had turned toward them so eagerly and then turned away so disappointedly. "A shop girl waiting for some fellow who is to come in a cab and take her out to supper," remarked two dudes who were sauntering up Broadway. Bernardine heard the remark, and flushed indignantly. How she wished she dared tell them that she was waiting for her husband! Yes, she was waiting--waiting, but he came not. CHAPTER XXXI. The sun dipped low in the West; the great crowds hurrying hither and thither were beginning to thin out. New York's busy throngs were seeking their homes to enjoy the meal which they had worked for in factory and shop, for they were mostly working people who composed this seething mass of humanity. Slowly time dragged on. Seven o'clock tolled from a far-off belfry. Bernardine was getting frightfully nervous. What could have happened to her handsome young husband, who had left her with the promise that he would return within the hour? The policeman pacing to and fro on that beat watched her curiously each time he passed. Eight o'clock struck slowly and sharply. The wind had risen, and was now howling like a demon around the corners of the great buildings. "What shall I do? Oh, Heaven, help me! what shall I do?" sobbed Bernardine, in nervous affright. "He--he must have forgotten me." At that moment a hand fell heavily on her shoulder. Looking up hastily through her tears, Bernardine saw a policeman standing before her and eyeing her sharply. "What are you doing here, my good girl?" he asked. "Waiting for somebody? I would advise you to move on. We're going to have a storm, and pretty quick, too, and I judge that it will be a right heavy one." "I--I am waiting for my husband," faltered Bernardine. "He drove me here in a cab. I was to do a little shopping while he went to find a boarding-house. He was to return in an hour---by six o'clock. I--I have been waiting here since that time, and--and he has not come." "Hum! Where did you and your husband live last?" inquired the man of the brass buttons. "We--we didn't live anywhere before. We--we were just married to-day," admitted the girl, her lovely face suffused with blushes. "The old story," muttered the officer under his breath. "Some rascal has deluded this simple, unsophisticated girl into the belief that he has married her, then cast her adrift." "I am going to tell you what I think, little girl," he said, speaking kindly in his bluff way. "But don't cry out, make a scene, or get hysterical. It's my opinion that the man you are waiting for don't intend to come back." He saw the words strike her as lightning strikes and blasts a fair flower. A terrible shiver ran through the young girl, then she stood still, as though turned to stone, her face overspread with the pallor of death.