ful."

Two days more passed, during which time neither Brainard nor his
wife said any thing to each other about money, although the thoughts
of both were busy for most of the time on that interesting subject.
Silently sat Brainard at the breakfast-table on the morning of the
day when his last note fell due. How was he to meet the payment? Two
hundred dollars! He had not so much as fifty dollars in his
possession, and as to borrowing, that was a vain hope. Must he go to
the holder of the note, and ask a renewal? He shrunk from the
thought, murmuring to himself--"Any thing but that."

As for getting the required sum through Anna, he did not permit
himself to hope very strongly. She had looked thoughtful since their
last interview on the subject, and at times, it seemed to him,
troubled. It was plain that she had been disappointed in any efforts
to get money that she might have made.

"That she, too, should be subject to mortification and painful
humiliation!" said he, as his mind dwelt on the subject. "It is too
bad--too bad!--Oh, to think that my folly should have had this
reaction!"

Anna looked sober as Brainard parted with her after breakfast, and
he thought he saw tears in her eyes. As soon as he was gone she
dressed herself, and taking from a handsome jewel-box the present of
her husband, a gold watch and chain, a bracelet, diamond pin, and
some other articles of the same kind, left the house.

Two hours afterward, as Brainard sat at his desk trying to fix his
mind upon the accounts before him, a note was handed in bearing his
address. He broke the seal, and found that it enclosed one hundred
and seventy dollars, with these few words from Anna:

"This is the best I can do for you, dear husband. Will it be
enough?"

"God bless her!" came half audibly from the lips of Brainard, as he
drew forth his pocket-book, in which were thirty dollars. "Yes, it
will be enough."

"There is no comfort in owing, or in paying after this fashion,"
said the young man to himself, as he walked homeward at dinner-time,
with his last note in his pocket. "There will have to be a change."

And there was a change. When next I visited my young friend, I found
him in a smaller house, looking as comfortable and happy as I could
have wished to see him. We talked pleasantly about the errors of the
past, and the trouble which had followed as a natural result.

"There is one thing," said Brainard, during the conversation,
glancing at h