"I will, love; truly is my charge a sacred one." "Good-bye, my treasures." "Good-bye." She passed out to the carriage. "Send Minny to me once again, Bernard." Minny came. Della threw her arms around her, and pressed her to her heart. "I never parted from you before, dear Minny, and I can scarcely give you up. Were it not that health demanded it, and a narrow purse forbade our both going, this would have never been. There! don't cry, Minny; when we meet, it will be never to part again." Was there prophecy in those parting words? As the carriage rolled away, Minny stood holding the heavy black curls from her brow, gazing earnestly after it as long as she could see Della's white handkerchief waving her adieu; then, bursting into a flood of tears, she took the babe from its father's arms, and entered the house. Bernard was a good husband to Della, and loved her as dearly as it was possible for him to love. But his marriage with her had not bettered his fortunes, and he was a poor man. This sometimes induced him to indulge in his old habits, in spite of Della's remonstrances, and tearful assurances that they were rich enough, and surely very happy, if he wouldn't follow these bad practices. He occasionally played high, in the hope of mending his purse, and then drank deep, to drown his disappointment. Several times since their marriage, he had gone home in such a state as this; but, every time, Della's unfeigned distress had called forth an earnest promise of amendment, which at the time he had faithfully meant to fulfill. But now Della was gone, and her restraining influence gone with her. She had been absent but a few days, when one night Bernard stayed out very late; and Minny, tired of waiting up for him, arranged the latch-key so that he might enter, and taking the baby in her arms, retired with him to her own room. She had but just laid the child upon his pillow when she heard his fathers step upon the stairs. She knew instantly, by its unsteadiness, that he was intoxicated. She did not disrobe, but, sitting down beside the bed, listened with painful anxiety to hear him go quietly to rest in his own room. She sat almost breathless, while a thrilling and undefinable dread crept through her whole frame. The steps went slowly on, she heard them pass into Della's chamber, linger there a moment, and then, oh, horror! they were directed straight toward her door. They came on, in their wavering unsteadiness, and, with a sudden impulse, Minny sprang to the bed, thinking to catch up his sleeping son, and meet him in the hall; but ere she could carry out her design Bernard had reached the door, entered, and closed it behind him. His blood-shot eyes, his flushed face, and trembling hand, as he held the lamp before him, all bore evidence of the excitement under which he labored. "So, so, pretty one, how do you progress in playing mother, eh?" "Very well," replied Minny, with forced calmness. "Did you come to look after him?"