even my sister has pouted and stormed, and you have not listened with your wonted courtesy: and that sigh! Nay, can you longer deny that something troubles you?"
Mathur did not reply.
"Do you not think me worthy of sharing your griefs?" continued Tara, seeing that her husband did not reply. "I know you do not love me." Tara hesitated. Mathur still continued silent. He gazed steadfastly on the angel purity of his affectionate wife's countenance; his bosom slowly heaved, and a sigh escaped him.
"You are unhappy; conceal it not, deceive me not," sobbed rather than uttered Tara, with an intensity of agony in the stifled tones of her voice beyond the power of language. "Deceive not, conceal not, tell me all. If my life will purchase your happiness, you can yet be happy."
Mathur still continued mute.
He no longer jested, prevaricated, or denied, but maintained a sombre and determined [silence, and] the look of cold and hypocritical levity with [which he] was presently attempting to evade the questions [of] his wife, had given place to a serious earnest gaze which seemed to seek and yet repel sympathy. Tears rolled down the cheek of Tara as she perceived, with a woman's sensitiveness and a woman's depth of feeling, this unusual change in the expression of her husband's face.
"Cursed be the hour of my birth!" burst from the lips of the mortified wife. "Not even this! I would lay down my life to make you
