“Is it you, Maurice? Are you there, Maurice?” said Ellen. The noise of the footsteps ceased, and Ellen again said, “Is it you, Maurice? Are you there?”
“Yes,” answered Maurice; “it is I. Why are you not abed and asleep, at this time of night?”
“I am waiting for you,” replied Ellen. “You need not wait for me; I have the key of the house door in my pocket, and can let myself in whenever I choose it.”
“And don’t you choose it now?” said Ellen.
“No. Shut down the window.”
Ellen shut the window, and went and sat down upon the side of her boy’s bed. He was sleeping. Ellen, who could not sleep, took up her work again, and resolved to wait till her husband should come in. At last, the key turned in the house door, and presently she heard her husband’s steps coming softly towards the room where she was sitting. He opened the door gently, as if he expected to find her asleep, and was afraid of awakening her. He started when he saw her; and slouching his hat over his face, threw himself into a chair without speaking a single word. Something terrible has happened to him, surely! thought Ellen; and her hand trembled so that she could scarcely hold her needle, when she tried to go on working.
“What are you doing there, Ellen?” said he, suddenly pushing back his hat.
“I’m only mending your waistcoat, love,” said Ellen, in a faltering voice.
“I am a wretch! a fool! a miserable wretch!” exclaimed Maurice, starting up and striking his forehead with violence as he walked up and down the room.
“What can be the matter?” said Ellen. “It is worse to me to see you in this way, than to hear whatever misfortune has befallen you. Don’t turn away from me, husband! Who in the world loves you so well as I do?”