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The housemaid and cook sat below, Norah hardly knew where. She was always engrossed in the nursery, in tending her two children, and in sitting by the restless, excitable Ailsie till she fell asleep. By-and-by the housemaid, Bessy, tapped gently at the door. Norah went to her, and they spoke in whispers.

“Nurse, there’s some one down stairs wants you.”

“Wants me! Who is it?”

“A gentleman–“

“A gentleman? Nonsense!”

“Well, a man, then, and he asks for you, and he rang at the front-door bell, and has walked into the dining-room.”

“You should never have let him,” exclaimed Norah; “master and missus out–“

“I did not want him to come in; but when he heard you lived here, he walked past me, and sat down on the first chair, and said, “Tell her to come and speak to me.” There is no gas lighted in the room, and supper is all set out.”

“He’ll be off with the spoons,” exclaimed Norah, putting the housemaid’s fear into words, and preparing to leave the room, first, however, giving a look to Ailsie, sleeping soundly and calmly.

Down stairs she went, uneasy fears stirring in her bosom. Before she entered the dining-room she provided herself with a candle, and, with it in her hand, she went in, looking around her in the darkness for her visitor.

He was standing up, holding by the table. Norah and he looked at each other, gradual recognition coming into their eyes.

“Norah?” at length he asked.

“Who are you?” asked Norah, with the sharp tones of alarm and incredulity.”I don’t know you;” trying, by futile words of disbelief, to do away with the terrible fact before her.

“Am I so changed?” he said, pathetically.”I dare say I am. But, Norah, tell me,” he breathed hard, “where is my wife? Is she–is she alive?”

He came nearer to Norah, and would have taken her hand, but she backed away from him, looking at him all the time with staring eyes, as if he were some horrible object. Yet he was a handsome, bronzed, good-looking fellow, with beard and mustache, giving him a foreign-looking aspect; but his eyes! there was no mistaking those cager, beautiful eyes–the very same that Norah had watched not half an hour ago, till sleep stole softly over them.

“Tell me, Norah–I can bear it–I have feared it so often. Is she dead?” Norah still kept silence.”She is dead!” He hung on Norah’s words and looks as if for confirmation or contradiction.

“What shall I do?” groaned Norah.”Oh, sir, why did you come? how did you find me out? where have you been ? We thought you dead, we did indeed.” She poured out words and questions to gain time, as if time would help her.

“Norah, answer me this question straight, by yes or no–Is my wife dead?”

“No, she is not,” said Norah, slowly and heavily.

“Oh, what a relief! Did she receive my letters? But perhaps you don’t know. Why did you leave her? Where is she? Oh, Norah, tell me all quickly.”

“Mr. Frank,” said Norah at last, almost driven to bay by her terror lest her mistress should return at any moment, and find him there–unable to consider what was best to be done or said–rushing at something decisive, because she could not endure her present state–“Mr. Frank, we never heard a line from you, and the ship-owners said you had gone down, you and every one else. We thought you were dead, if ever man was, and poor Miss Alice and her little sick, helpless child! Oh, sir, you must guess it,” cried the poor creature at last, bursting out into a passionate fit of crying, “for indeed I can not tell it. But it was no one’s fault. God help us all this night!”