reproached herself for being so selfish as to be unwilling to gratify him in so trifling a matter. She watched the carriage as it rolled slowly down the avenue. The slight motion of the horse's mane, as he set up a gentle trot, reminded her of other days when a little girl her father lifted her in childish glee to put her hands upon it, and seated her upon his back. A dear old creature he was, always so docile a child might drive him, yet full of energy which he still retained, although he had lost some of the fire of his youth.
It seemed as if an age had passed since those days, an age that had transformed this world into a different sphere from what it was then, yet in outward aspect the same. This led her into a close investigation of the causes that had produced the change and a rapid retrospect of her own experience for the last three years. No very flattering picture she drew of herself, the background of which was of too sombre a hue to admit much of the sunlight necessary for an agreeable impression, and the finishing touch was not of a character to redeem it of its ugliness. She felt the utter sinfulness of wasting these golden years of her life in worse than useless repinings, shutting out of her soul those genial influences which God gives us to beautify and ennoble it and refusing the enjoyment of the blessings which home and friends were so ready to lavish upon her. She did not pursue this train of thought long. Her mind soon wandered back into the old channel which had engaged it that day, how to introduce Walter into the secret of her present troubles. Her last conclu-
