George had got into the habit of giving the same answer, when asked by his wife for money. She had asked several times lately; but all the satisfaction she received was, "I'll see about it." Not a suspicion that his means were running short ever crossed her brain. She went upstairs and retired to rest, soon falling asleep. Her head was heavy. The household went to bed; George shut himself into the Bank--according to his recent custom; and the house was soon wrapped in quiet--as a sober house should be. Two o'clock was striking from All Souls' clock when Maria awoke. Why should she have done so?--there was no noise to startle her. All she knew--and it is all that a great many of us know--was, that she did awake. To her astonishment, George was not in bed. Two o'clock!--and he had said that he should soon follow her! A vague feeling of alarm stole over Maria. All sorts of improbable suggestions crowded on her imagination. Imaginations, you know, are more fantastic in the dark, still night, than in the busy day. Had he been taken ill? Had he fallen asleep at his work? Could he--could he have set the books and himself on fire? Had a crown been offered to Maria, she could not have remained tranquil a moment longer. Slightly dressing herself, she threw on a warm dressing-gown, and stole down the stairs. Passing through the door that divided the dwelling from the Bank, she softly turned the handle of George's room, and opened it. Secure in the house being at rest, he had not locked the doors against interruption. The tables seemed strewed with books, but George was not then occupied with them. He was sitting in a chair apart, buried, as it appeared--in thought, his hands and his head alike drooping listlessly. He started up at Maria's entrance. "I grew alarmed, George," she said, trying to explain her appearance. "I awoke suddenly, and finding you had not come up, I grew frightened, thinking you might be ill. It is two o'clock!" "What made you come down out of your warm bed?" reiterated George. "You'll catch your death." "I was frightened, I say. Will you not come up now?" "I am coming directly," replied George. "Go back at once. You'll be sure to take cold." Maria turned to obey. Somehow the dark passages struck on her with a nervous dread. She shrank into the room again. "I don't care to go up alone," she cried. "I have no light." "How foolish!" he exclaimed. "I declare Meta would be braver!" Some nervous feeling did certainly appear to be upon her, for she burst into tears. George's tone--a tone of irritation, it had been--was exchanged for one of soothing tenderness, as he bent over her. "What is the matter with you to-night, Maria? I'll light you up." "I don't know what is the matter with me," she answered, suppressing her sobs. "I have not felt in good spirits of late. George, sometimes I think you are not well. You are a great deal changed in your manner to me. Have I--have I displeased you in any way?"