one: it's the last favour I probably shall 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, and to
request that you will not interrupt me. Now oblige me by going to bed."

But getting in was every thing; and a young and pretty wife, in
dishabille and in tears, imploring, entreating, conjuring, promising,
coaxing, and fondling, is not quite so easy to be detached when once she
has gained access. In less than half an hour Mr Sullivan was obliged
to confess that her conduct had been the occasion of a meeting being
agreed for upon that morning, and that he was arranging his affairs in
case of a melancholy termination.

"You now, Mary, must see the consequences of your conduct. By your
imprudence, your husband's life is risked, probably sacrificed; but this
is no time to be at variance. I forgive you, Mary,--from my soul, I do,
as I hope for pardon myself."

Mrs Sullivan burst into a paroxysm of tears; and it was some time
before she could answer. "William," cried she energetically, "as you
well say, this is no time to be at variance, neither is it a time for
falsehood. What I stated to you this morning was true:--if not, may I
never hope for pardon! and may Heaven never be opened to me! You have
been deceived, grossly deceived; for what purpose, I know not; but so it
is. Do not therefore be rash. Send for all who were present, and
examine them; and if I have told you a falsehood, put me away from you,
to the shame and seclusion I shall so well deserve."

"It is too late, Mary; I have challenged him, and he has accepted it. I
fain would believe you; but he told me so himself."

"Then he told a lie! a base cowardly lie! which sinks him beneath the
notice of a gentleman. Let me go with you and confront him. Only let
him dare to say it to my face: 'tis all I ask, William, that I may clear
my fame with you. Come to bed--nay, nay, don't refuse me;" and poor
Mrs Sullivan again burst into tears.

We must leave the couple to pass the remaining hours in misery, which,
however, reclaimed them both from faults. Mrs Sullivan never coquetted
more, and her husband was, a