Tears came into the mother's eyes, and her feelings were so moved, that she could not venture to reply. "Won't he be home soon, mother?" pursued the child. "I'm afraid not," the mother at length said, in as calm a voice as she could assume. "Why not, mother? He's been gone a long time." "I cannot tell you, my child. But I don't expect him home soon." "Oh, I wish he would come," the child responded, earnestly. "If he was only home, you would not have to go out to work any more." The mother thought that she heard the movement of some one near the door, and leant her head in a listening attitude. But all was silent without, save the occasional sound of footsteps as some one hurried by. To give the incidents and characters that we have introduced their true interest, we must go back some twelve years, and bring the history of at least one of the individuals down from that time. A young lady and one of more mature age sat near a window, conversing earnestly, about the period to which we have reference. "I would make it an insuperable objection," the elder of the two said, in a decided tone. "But surely there can be no harm in his drinking a glass of wine or brandy now and then. Where is the moral wrong?" "Do you wish to be a drunkard's wife?" "No, I would rather be dead." "Then beware how you become the wife of any man who indulges in even moderate drinking. No man can do so without being in danger. The vilest drunkard that goes staggering past your door, will tell you that once he dreamed not of the danger that lurked in the cup; that, before he suspected evil, a desire too strong for his weak resistance was formed." "I don't believe, aunt, that there is the slightest danger in the world of Edward Lee. He become a drunkard! How can you dream of such a thing, aunt?" "I have seen much more of the world than you have, Alice. And I have seen too many as high-minded and as excellent in character as Edward Lee, who have fallen. And I have seen the bright promise of too many girls utterly extinguished, not to tremble for you. I tell you, Alice, that of all the causes of misery that exist in the married life, intemperance is the most fruitful. It involves not only external privations, toil, and disgrace, but that unutterable hopelessness which we feel when looking upon the moral debasement of one we have respected, esteemed, and loved." "I am sure, aunt, that I will not attempt to gainsay all that. If there is any condition in life that seems to me most deplorable and heart-breaking, it is the condition of a drunkard's wife. But, so far as Edward Lee is concerned, I am sure there does not exist the remotest danger."