the cup poured out for him was cold. The urn had been sent down, with
strict injunctions to keep the water boiling, and all was cleared away. Mrs
Sullivan fidgeted and ruminated, and became uneasy. He never had been at
variance for so many hours since their marriage, and all for nothing! At
last the clock struck ten, and she rang the bell.--"Where is Mr
Sullivan?"--"In the counting-house."--"Tell him that I wish to speak with
him." Mr Sullivan had not answered him, and the door was locked inside.
This intelligence created a little irritation, and checked the tide of
affection. "Before all the servants--so inconsiderate--it was quite
insulting!" With a heavy heart, Mrs Sullivan lighted the chamber candle,
and went upstairs to bed. Once she turned down the stairs two or three
steps, intending to go to the counting-house door; but her pride restrained
her, and she reascended. In an hour Mrs Sullivan was in bed, expecting her
husband every minute, listening at the slightest sound for his footsteps;
but two o'clock came, and he was still away. She could bear up against her
suspense and agitation no longer; she rose, threw on her _robe de nuit_,
and descended the stairs. All the family had long retired, and everything
was still: her light foot made no noise as she tripped along. As she neared
the door she perceived the light gleaming through the key-hole. Whether to
peep or to speak first--he might be fast asleep. Curiosity prevailed--she
looked through the key-hole, and perceived her husband very busy writing.
After he had finished his letter he threw down the pen, pressed his
forehead with both hands, and groaned deeply. Mrs Sullivan could refrain no
longer. "William! William!" cried she, in a soft, imploring voice: but she
was not answered. Again and again did she repeat his name, until an answer,
evidently wrung from him by impatience, was returned--"It is too late now."

"Too late, dear William! Yes, it is very late--it's almost three o'clock.
Let me in, William--pray do!"

"Leave me alone: it's the last favour I shall probably ever request of
you."

"The last favour! Oh, William! you frighten me so:--dear William--do--do
let me in. I'm so cold--I shall die:--only for one moment, and I'll bless
you. Pray do, William!"

It was not until after repeated and repeated entreaties of this kind that
Mr Sullivan, worn out by importunity, at last opened the door.

"Mary, I am very busy; I have opened the door to tell you so,