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“I wouldn’t sew to-night, Jane,” he said. “You look tired. Rest for one evening.”

Mrs Jarvis neither looked up nor replied. There was something in the tone of her husband’s voice that stirred her feelings;–something that softened her heart towards him. But she dared not trust herself to speak, nor to let her eye meet his. She did not wish to utter a harsh nor repulsive word, nor was she willing to speak kindly to him, for she did not feel kindly,–and kind words and affected cheerfulness, she had already found but encouraged him in his evil ways. And so she continued to ply her needle, without appearing to regard his presence. Her husband did not make another effort to induce her to suspend her labors; for, under existing circumstances, he was particularly desirous of not provoking her to use towards him the language of rebuke and censure. After sitting silent, for, perhaps half an hour, he rose from his chair, and walked three or four times backwards and forwards across the room, preparatory to going out to seek a coffee-house, and there spend his evening, as his wife supposed. But much to her surprise, he retired to their chamber, in the adjoining room. While still under the expectation of seeing him return, his loud breathing caught her quick ear. He was asleep!

Catching up the light, as she arose suddenly to her feet, she passed, with a hasty step, into the chamber. He had undressed himself, was in bed, and sound asleep. She held the candle close to his face; it was calmer than usual, and somewhat paler. As she bent over him, his breath came full in her face. It was not loaded with the disgusting fumes that had so often sickened her. Her heart beat quicker–the moisture dimmed her eye–her whole frame trembled. Then looking upwards, she uttered a single prayer for her husband, and, gliding quietly from the room, sat down by her little table and again bent over her work. Now she remembered that he had said, with something unusual in his tones–“I would not sew to-night, Jane; you look tired; rest for one evening”–and her heart was agitated with a new hope; but that hope, like the dove from the ark, found nothing upon which to rest, and trembled back again into a feeling of despondency.

On the next morning, the unsteady hand of Jarvis, as he lifted his saucer to his lips at the breakfast-table, made his wife’s heart sink again in her bosom. She had felt a hope, almost unconsciously. She remembered that at supper-time his hand was firm–now it was unnerved. This was conclusive to her mind, that, notwithstanding his appearance, he had been drinking. But few words passed during the meal, for neither felt much inclined to converse.

After breakfast, Jarvis returned to the shop and worked steadily until dinner-time, and then again until evening. As on the night before, he did not go out, but retired early to bed. And this was continued all the week. But the whole was a mystery to his poor wife, who dared not even to hope for any real change for the better. On Saturday, towards night, he laid by his work, put on his coat and hat, and went into the front shop.

“So you have really worked a week, a sober man, John?” Mr. Lankford said.

“Indeed, I have. Since last Sunday morning, no kind of intoxicating liquor has passed my lips.”

“How much have you earned this week, John?”

“Here is the foreman’s account of my work, sir. It comes to twelve dollars.”

“Still a fast workman. You will yet recover yourself, and your family will again be happy, if you persevere.”

“O, sir, they shall be happy! I will persevere!”

Another pause ensued, and then Jarvis said, while the color mounted to his cheek–

“If you are willing, Mr. Lankford, I should like you to deduct only one-half of what I owe you for those furs I took from you, from this week’s wages. My family are in want of a good many things; and I am particularly desirous of buying a barrel of flour to-night.”