MARY'S REWARD.
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��short month ago Theodore Carr would have feared to trust him with so much money, and his heart beat high with hope as he thought how pleased the dear mother and sister at home would be to know that he was winning his way back to the position of a trustworthy friend in the estimation of Theodore Carr.
Suddenly, in the midst of these reflec- tions, a hand was laid heavily upon his shoulder, and a cheery voice exclaimed : "I am lucky for once, Eugene Ross — was just on my way to call upon you, and as I leave the city upon the eight- thirty express I have hardly a minute to spare. Come, just give me half a wel- come, old friend !"
" Fred Marston ! I can hardly believe my eyes ! I thought you were thousands of miles from here. I am glad to see you, Fred."
" I have not forgotten that debt I owe you, Ross, and I can pay you now, thank kind fortune. Come in here out of the storm."
As the young man spoke, he hurried Eugene from the pavement into a large and brilliantly lighted liquor saloon. Very agreeable indeed seemed the warmth of this place compared to the storm without, which grew more severe with each passing moment, but had Eu- gene noticed whither his friend was lead- ing him, he certainly would not have en- tered the place. There were several groups of young men seated around the room, many of whom were Eugene's for- mer boon companions. His first impulse was to leave the place at once, but fear- ing to excite ridicule, he hesitated. Meanwhile Fred Marston had counted out some money, which he handed Eugene, saying in a low voice as he did so :
"You trusted me with this three years ago without any prospect of ever getting your pay. Here it is, principal and in- terest, and a thousand thanks besides. Now it is my treat, you know," and be- fore Eugene had time to reply, had ap- proached the bar and ordered two glasses of liquor, and a moment later had thrust one into Eugene's hand. All this was done in the hurried, eager manner one is so apt to assume when in danger of miss- ing a train. The smell of liquor aroused
��all of Eugene's former appetite for the detestable beverage, and forgetting all his good resolutions, his dying mother, his errand — everything, he raised the glass to his lips and drained it. He had no distinct recollection of anything from that moment. With a warm shake of the hand and a hearty goodbye, Fred Marston left him, all unconscious of the wrong he had wrought, for he knew nothing of Eugene's career during the past year. Need I pause to relate all that occurred within the next three hours? While the mother lay dying at home, Eugene sat at the gaming table, and when, at twelve o'clock, he stag- gered forth into the street, the five hun- dred dollars that Marston had just paid him and the two thousand Theo. had en- trusted to his care, were alike gone. Thoroughly sobered now, and with his heart full of remorse, he strode onward in an opposite direction from his home. His anguish was almost insupportable. He had forfeited Theodore's respect and trust, had robbed his kind friend, had broken his pledge to his dying mother, and had lost all his own self-esteem. He removed his hat and allowed the rain to fall upon his fevered brow. Would they ever forgive him and trust him again? Would his mother— for the first time since he had entered the saloon, he thought of his sister's words to him — k - Mother is worse, and I fear she will not live until morning." Turning, he hurriedly retraced his steps homeward. He must see her once more if she were yet alive — if not— a horrid, sickening sense of despair filled his heart at the thought. As he drew near his home he saw a faint light burning in his mother's room. Was she yet alive — his fond, kind mother? He would enter so carefully, lest he should disturb her, should she be asleep. Carefully he opened the outer door and entered, closing it softly be- hind him. Throwing off his wet over- coat, he crept softly along the hall until he found himself at the door of his moth- er's room. It was ajar, and he swung it noiselessly open. This was the scene that met his view: The form of Mrs. Ross had been robed for burial, and lay upon the bed, whose snow-white draper
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