1829.] a Tale of the Reign of Ma rij. 379 



" No, mother ! not to-night," replied Walter, gently putting aside the 

 crust which Esther ofFered him, and beginning to prepare for rest. 

 " Are you not hungry, my child ?" she anxiously inquired. 

 " Rather," was the boy's tremulous reply ; " but you have not eaten 

 since noon, though you have worked hard, and need it more than I." 



The unfortunate woman, at these words, was unable longer to restrain 

 her tears, and, clasping her cliild in her arms, wept bitterly. 



" Dear boy ?" she said, " think not of me ; I have had enough. But 

 you are young. Eat : would, for thy sake, it were more ! — but, were it 

 the last I had on earth, it should be tliine." 



Walter unwiUingly obeyed; and, having offered up his innocent 

 prayers, lay down on his pallet, and soon sunk into the sweet sleep of 

 childhood. The unfortunate woman, relieved from his presence, and 

 overpowered by the sad consciousness of the actual want which threat- 

 ened herself, and him who was more dear to her, buried her face in her 

 lap, and wept bitterly.—" But this will little avail," she at length 

 exclaimed, suddenly starting up ; " toil only can save us from perishmg; 

 toil only can earn the pittance for to-morrow's support !"— And agam 

 seating herself at her wheel, whilst her tears yet fell thick and fast, she 

 sternly recommenced her monotonous labour. 



She had sat several hours thus occupied, and every sound had ceased 

 in the Citv, save the howling of the winter's blast, and the toll of the 

 passing hours ; when a heavy tread was suddenly heard on the common 

 staircase of the building, as of one approaching her chamber.—" Can it 

 be my husband ?" she exclaimed, checking her wheel, — " and at this 

 unseasonable hour ! I trust he comes for no evil !" 



There had been a time when the very sound of his steps made her 

 heart leap with delight; l)ut those days were gone, and she now only 

 awaited his appearance with dread and sorrow. 



Her door was, ere long, slowly and cautiously unclosed, and she beheld 

 a man enveloped in a dark mantle. His features were invisible in the 

 faint light of the expiring fire ; and, impressed with a new terror, as he 

 advanced towards the bed of her child, she sprang suddenly forward 

 from the recess where she had hitherto sat concealed in shade, and 

 seizing the arm of the intruder, said, in a hurried voice, " Walter, is 

 it you ? What would you with the boy ? Speak, for mercy sake !— is 

 it you ?" 



" Esther," exclaimed the man, turning sternly towards her, " why 

 art thou awake at such an hour ?" 



" I have been long used to watching," replied his wife meekly, " and 

 have little time for sleep." . . 



" Watch the devil !" replied her husband. " Get thee to bed ; it is 

 no hour for honest women to be astir." 



" Not now," she replied ; " it is many days since we pp.rted. I will 

 throw a fresh log on the fire, for the night is chill ; and though I have 



no food to offer thee " 



" No need of it to-night, wench !" answered Wharncliff ; " and it may 

 chance that I may never need it more.— Get thee to bed, I say : I can 

 do that best alone for which I came hitlier." 



" In pity, Walter ! what mean you ?" inquired the wretched woman, 

 grasping her husband's hand, in the faint hope of softening his rugged 

 natiire ; — " you speak fearfully !" 



" Say you so !" said Wh.arncliff, with a sarcastic smile. " Then 1 



3 C 2 



