shall be obliged to sit up late at my studies, I have had the opposite chamber prepared for myself. So I will bid you good-night now!"
He held out his hand. She placed hers within it, silently, eyes still averted.
"Good-night, and pleasant dreams!" he repeated, with a kindly pressure of the chill fingers.
An impulse she could not control or define, drew her to her feet.
"Won't you kiss me, Roy?" she asked, in sorrowful humility.
She did not see how bloodless were the lips that obeyed. The salute was, to her apprehension, cold and reluctant, and without another syllable he passed on to the outer door. There he stopped—hesitated, with a backward glance at the drooping figure, standing where he had left her—and returned.
I had not intended to say it yet," he said, agitatedly. "There have been times when I questioned the propriety of any attempt at self-justification, but I would not have you think worse of me than I deserve for my selfish recklessness in hurrying on our marriage. I received this letter"—giving it to her—"last night. It furnished the clue to much that I now see should have checked my unseemly impatience to claim the right I believed was still mine. This was the communication to which you referred when you pleaded that the contents of your last letter should have hindered my proposal. I supposed, in the haste and excitement of the moment, that you meant the false rumor of your mother's insanity, which had been treated of in a former communication. If this had reached me in season, your request would have been granted. My only hope now is, that since I know what I ought to have perceived from the beginning, I may spare you annoyance, if not misery, by consulting your wishes and respecting your repugnances. If I could set you free I would. My heaviest burden is the consciousness that this is impracticable. But it is my desire that, from this time, you should cease to regard me as your husband, and try to think of me as your friend. For we may still be that to each other, may we not, dear Jessie?"
She was moaning as in mortal pain. "This kindness kills me! I had rather you should say you hated me!"
"That would not be true!" said the gentle voice. "And henceforward, we will be very frank and just in our dealings with one another. We will try, moreover, to put vain regrets out of sight, to do the duty of the day; to serve our fellows and honor Him who has some merciful intent in leading us through these dark waters. Now, my child, this subject need never be renewed. Our Father knows our sorrow. To Him we will look for strength. He knows, too, the sincerity of my sad heart, when I say how deeply it afflicts me to feel how much more grievous is your trial than mine!"
Folding in his the clammy hands she extended in a passion of tears, while her lips tried vainly to form a petition for pardon, he prayed the God of all consolation to have her in His holy keeping; to give her joy for weeping, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness, then bidding her again "Be comforted and sleep!" went out.
CHAPTER XVI.
Mrs. Orrin Wyllys had "run in very sociably" to chat for an hour with her "dear cousin," Mrs. Fordham.
"Orrin brought me to the door," she said, divesting herself of her fur cloak and untying the coquettish hood that half covered her head. "I knew Mr. Ford-
