GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK
Philadelphia, March 1850

THE YOUNG BRIDE'S TRIALS.

BY MRS. JOSEPH C. NEAL,

CHAPTER I.

"INDEED, Laura, you must come and' dine with us; I shall take no denial. We shall be quite alone, in our own room, and you need see no one. Urge her, Louis."

" We should be most happy to see you, Mrs. Lawton. I have heard Marian speak of you so often, that I feel as if we were quite old friends; and I was just regretting that our short stay would not allow us to meet you again."

"I never could resist Marian's pleading," said Mrs. Lawton, pressing the little hand she held. " Yes, I will come; for I cannot tell when we may meet again."

Marian flew down the steps like a child, and, as her tall, grave companion handed her into the carriage, he said, "To the Irving House;" and they . were gone.

It was scarce an hour after, that Mrs. Lawton was ushered into a private parlor of the crowded hotel, and found Marian there alone waiting to receive her.

" Oh, I am so glad you are come, Laura, darling! I wanted to see you again. I have a thousand things to say; things I could not say before Louis. First of all, let me tell you how good and kind he is. Oh, nobody knows but his little wife how noble, how generous, how charming!"

Mrs. Lawton smiled as she laid her bonnet upon the pier-table; but it was a sad smile; for she caught sight of the dark dress she was even yet unaccustomed to.

"I have no doubt, Marie, that you think so, and that others think so, too; but how long have you known him? I had scarce heard of your engagement when your marriage was announced."

" Oh, that was to please Louis. He was ill at uncle's last – let me see – last September; and I was there. Oh, he was so patient after he left his room, and I" –

" Yes; and you nursed the convalescent?"

"No; I amused him, and sang to him, and read, and brought him flowers. I pitied him, you know."

"Sympathetic little soul!"

" You need not smile, Laura; I did not dream that he loved me – I am sure I did not – and then it was all past before I knew it. Mamma consented; and uncle said it was such an excellent match – he always thinks of such things, you know – and Louis said he must not be away from home in the winter, and he could not leave me among the mountains; and though I pouted, mamma and he arranged it all, and we were' married thirteen days ago. No; I declare, I have been Mrs. Musgrave – (don't it sound odd!) – two whole weeks to-day."

"And this is the ninth of December. Well, they gave you very, little time. You have not repented it yet?"

MRS. Lawton spoke half-jestingly; yet there was a tone of seriousness in the apparent badinage.

" Repented! – O no; and never shall. Why Louis is perfection! He indulges me in everything; ho calls me the sweetest pet names; and see how generous he is. There" – and the young bride turned the key of a richly inlaid dressing-case, and drew forth a heavy diamond bracelet, that sparkled and flashed as the sunlight fell upon its snowy velvet cushion. "Is not that magnificent'! – and I have a whole set – ring, brooch – everything! It was his bridal gift."

Mrs. Lawton's lips quivered, and a tear fell upon the gems that glittered in her hand. It was not envy; ah no, at least not envy of the costly gifts, which were lavished upon the young creature at her side. But all this while memory had been busy in recalling the scenes of her own bridal, and how she too had looked forward to many, many years of uninterrupted happiness, The second anniversary had not come, when she assumed the sad garb of the widow. It was no wonder that she was sad when she saw anticipations so brilliant, and a heart so full of buoyant hope as her own had been, going forth to meet the harsh experiences of life, and thought how coldly that might fall, and that the sorrow would be heightened by its announced approach.

But she could not bear to check the joyous spirit at her side with the dull croakings of experience, and so she smiled again that same sweet, sad smile to hear the. little wife set forth her husband's praises.

"We are going to Washington now, Laura. Do you remember how often we used to talk about it at school? – but I never expected then to be the wife of such a great and distinguished man. Isn't he young to have been in Congress? – though he's older than he looks – thirty-five next spring – would you guess it?"

"And you are just seventeen, Marian."

"Yes; but he's so young in heart, you know, and he never seems old. Now tell me, am I not a most fortunate child ?"

" You deserve all your good fortune, Marie. But tell me about his family. Have you seen any of them?"

"Only his cousin Harry, who was one of our attendants. His sisters could not go so far in the winter; they are older than Louis, and live with him. Won't it be nice? I shall have no bother of housekeeping. We go back to Maple Grove in February, and then I shall see them all. Louis says they will be sure to love me."

Mrs. Lawton wondered if any one could help it, as she looked into those loving eyes, turned with eager questioning to her own; and yet – she could not account for it – this mention of Mr. Musgrave's sisters, and their tardiness in claiming their new relative, had somehow made her uncomfortable.

That Marian was loved, and with no ordinary auction, by her grave and stately husband, there could be no doubt. The smile with which he greeted her on his entrance soon after, the glance of undisguised admiration which followed her fairylike movements, were plain interpreters of an honest heart.

"And now," said Marian, gayly, as a servant announced dinner, " see how I shall look at the head of my husband's table. Must I be demure, Louis ?"

Mrs. Lawton looked up at the same moment, and fancied that she saw a shade flit across his face at these words. But no, it could not be; for he was doing the honors of the table with the most finished courtesy, not a moment afterwards, and smiling at the lively sallies of Marian, who seemed filled with the very spirit of joyousness. Her trials had made her too suspicious; and the young widow wondered if she could ever have been so gay, so thoughtless as her old school-friend now was.

"Heaven bless you, Marian!" she said, fervently, as they parted. "And shield you from the bitterness of my lot," she would have added; but her unselfish nature would not allow the words to pass her lips, lest she should shadow Marian's fair face.

" Thou art just, my Father," she murmured, as she walked homeward, so lonely in that crowded street. " Yet why, oh why was I thus chastened, while others are permitted to live in the sunshine of affection?" and then, as she rebuked this rebellious emotion, she wondered what could arise to sadden the light-heartedness of young Marian; for she had learned thus early, that God does not permit unalloyed happiness to those whom he loves, lest their affection should be devoted to this world and its idols.

CHAPTER II.

MARIAN had spoken the truth, when she said she had "amused" Mr. Musgrave. The peculiar and unconscious witcheries of her voice and manner had stolen into his heart, in the wearisome hours of convalescence; and the quiet, retired student, who had passed unscathed the fire of four winters at Washington, found himself loving – nay, actually engaged to a little country damsel, to whom he was a stranger two months before. If he had at times any misgivings as to the suitableness of this union, they were dispelled by the charming gayety of Marian; who, though she had never mingled in the polished circles of the capital, possessed a natural grace end ladyhood that could not have been improved by any rules of art.

That she loved him for himself alone, undazzled by his wealth and position, which might have won many a lady fair, he did not doubt. She hovered around him like a bird; she sat at his feet upon a low cushion, and looked up in the pauses of the poems which she read to him, her eyes filled with tears of tenderness and emotion, as she found her own love interpreted in the words of the poet.

Oh, it was a glad, bright dream, that lingering convalescence, and one which the world-wearied man had not thought could chain his heart. So he won her to himself, for he felt that life would be dark if the sunshine of her presence was withdrawn; and Marian went forth trustingly, for what was existence now away from him ?

He did not ask himself if he was doing rightly in withdrawing her so young, and so affectionate, from the shelter of home, to be the companion of one grown old in enjoyment; and wearied of life's busy scenes. He did not pause to test his love, and see if it was strong enough to guard her, even from her self-delusions, when she should be ushered into the world, that wore so smiling a face to welcome her – to bear with her childish follies when their fresh ness and novelty no longer amused him. He believed that a strong and yet hidden inner life was to make her the companion of his nobler thoughts; but he forgot that patient and skillful guidance were necessary to give this Undine a soul.

She became a star at Washington; her youth, beauty, and position were acknowledged. How proud he was of her as he watched her graceful form float through the dance, while he stood by in serious conversation with his old political friends, and heard half-whispered praises of his child-wife. For Marian there was a constant round of excitement. Gayety abroad, and unwearied affection when alone with Louis. She was rejoiced in her beauty now for the first time; but it was because his wife possessed it.

There was but one jarring thrill to the harmony of Mr. Musgrave's enjoyment. He had overheard a careless gossip upon their respective ages, and for the erst time remembered that he was no longer in early manhood. He wondered if Marian had ever thought of this, and he glanced to the future and saw that she would be in the prime of life, while he descended in the vale of years. But he did not dwell on this; it did not recur to him again.

"Dear, delightful Washington, how I shall wish for you, and to fly back again!" said Marian, as they drew near Maple Grove, when that festive month had passed.

"But you are going to my home now, dear child; will you not try to be happy there?"

" O yes, I know I shall be very, very happy. Tell me all about your sisters now – I shall see them so soon."

Mr, Musgrave wrapped the fur-lined mantle still closer about her, and began, for the thirtieth time, to describe Maple Grove and its inhabitants.

It was the twilight of a dreary winter's day when they entered the grounds, and drove rapidly, towards the homestead of which she had heard so much. Marian looked out from the carriage window eagerly; but there was little to be seen except leafless trees and delicate shrubs carefully covered from the cold. The sky was dark and leaden, and whether it was that or the chilly atmosphere, Marian's, gayety was very much subdued by the time she was lift out, as if she had been indeed a child, upon the broad piazza that stretched across the front of the mansion. She was weary, in truth, and fearful for the first time of meeting her new sisters. Louis was never weary of dwelling on Miss Musgrave's benevolent and Miss Margaret's sterling good sense; but they were so much, older and wiser, and, above all, so stately, that when they came into the hall to welcome her, she shrank with instinctive timidity from the formal kisses by which she was saluted.

Nor was this lessened when, after their wrappers had been removed, they sat in a stiff circle around the blazing fire, and Miss Margaret inquired about the roads, and Miss Musgrave predicted snow before morning. How Marian longed to take the cushions from the old-fashioned fauteuil in the corner, and seat herself on the floor at her husband's feet, as she so often had done. She would as soon have thought of throwing her arms about Miss Musgrave's neck, or doing any other equal .act of insincerity, as to claim her "old accustomed place" now. Yet she could not exactly tell what restrained her; perhaps it was the change which seemed to pass over Louis himself in that chilling atmosphere; let the cause be what it might, the poor little lady eat there bolt upright, and growing more weary, and silent, and stupid every moment. Home-sickness – it was the first real pang she had found leisure to feel since her marriage – was added to her unhappiness. This was her home now, it is true, bat how unlike the cosy little parlor at the cottage; and her mother's gentle smile would come side by side, and, in sad contrast to Miss Margaret's immovable face, as often as she looked up. Where, too, was the patter of little feet, the sweet murmur of children's voices? She wondered what Willie, and Etta, and Harry were doing now!

Supper was announced. Oh, what a relief it was; and she forgot the awful presence of her new sisters for a moment, and sprang, as she was went, to the side of Louis. But she was recalled to the present by the look, almost of reproof, which she met; and, sad and blushing, she walked demurely to the dining-room. Here, too, she was reminded that this was not her home. The cheerful chit-chat of their own tea-table was exchanged for dull monosyllables; for Miss Musgrave never conversed familiarly in the presence of servants; and a waiter, who bad grown old in the family service, stood as stiff and upright as the ladies themselves behind his master's chair.

Marian was placed near Louis, and Miss Musgrave tool; the head of the table. Her brother saw the reserve that was creeping over the party, and tried to throw it off by cheerful conversation. But he met with no response; for Miss Margaret was naturally taciturn, and Marian was too sad to respond. Besides, she did not feel at ease with Miss Musgrave's constant anxiety lest she should not be well served.

She begged to be shown to her room at once, as they rose from the table, and Miss Margaret led the way. Everything there had been arranged by that lady herself, with an eye more to utility than taste. But there was an evident desire to make her comfortable, and Marian could have thrown her arms about Miss Margaret and kissed her good-night as she withdrew, in the fullness of her lonely, grateful little heart. But one glance at the scrupulously smooth collar and unvarying face subdued the rash impulse.

To tell the truth, both ladies were colder and more reserved than usual, or than they had intended to be. They had, in the first place, considered themselves very much aggrieved when their brother announced his intention of marrying. He had devoted himself to them so long, and they had reigned supreme in his house so many years, that it seemed positively unkind in him to bring home a new mistress to Maple Grove. Moreover, it was a fresh offense that he should marry one so young and girlish as they found his bride to be. It was impossible for them to yield up authority to such a mere child. In justice to these excellent women, we must say that they were not conscious of these emotions, or how far they had influenced their reception of the young stranger. Miss Margaret thought – " Well, this is a pretty little creature," as she returned to the parlor, where her brother and Miss Musgrave were seated in an animated discussion.

" She is not herself to-night at all, sister," said he, as if they had been speaking of Marian; "and since you make such a point of it, you had better retain your usual seat at the table. I do not think Mrs. Musgrave would have the least objection;" and then they began talking about the estate, and other changes in the neighborhood, during his absence.

Poor little Marian, meanwhile, had dismissed her attendant, and throwing herself upon the hearth-rug, like a child, as she was, looked around the room. It was like the rest of the house – large, and heavily furnished with high antique wardrobes, and dark mahogany chairs it would have tested her strength to move. The fire had burned low, and shed a flickering, unsteady glare over all; and she could hear the wind sighing and moaning with the rising storm, and the leafless branches of the shade-trees. strike against the windows. The very bed itself had a gloomy look – it was high, and canopied by crimson curtains, that looked black in the gloom of the apartment, and contrasted disagreeably with the snow-white pillows and counterpanes.

She sat there a long time, thridding her hands through the mass of her unbraided hair, which fell about her,

"Showered in rippled ringlets to-her knee,"

and thinking about many things that had never intruded themselves before. At last she rose and moved slowly across the room, almost startled at the rustling her own movements caused, and laid her head down upon one of those snowy pillows, listening eagerly for her husband's footsteps in the echoing hall. But he came not; and, weary and lonely, she could restrain her tears no longer. Marian had not expected to sob herself to sleep the first night in her new home; but so it was, for the shadows on the wall turned themselves in more fantastic shapes, and the dismal sounds without grew fainter and fainter, till she slept –

"Nestling among the pillows soft,
A dove, o'er wearied with its flight.

CHAPTER III.

THE room did not look so gloomy in the morning light; and the snow, which had fallen silently for many hours, shrouded the surrounding landscape in a pure drapery, that gave a peculiar beauty to the scene without. Moreover, Louis, removed from the immediate presence of Miss Margaret, was just as she had first known him, and laughed pleasantly when Marian told him of her last night's awe of that good lady. They went down to breakfast in the best possible temper with each other and the world, and Marian's cheerful gayety seemed to infect the whole household.

"You'll not mind if my sister keeps her old place, will you, little one?" said Louis, as they passed through the hall. "You are hardly dignified enough as yet to take the head of a table; and Caroline would be quite out of her element, if not seated behind the urn."

"Certainly," said Marian, promptly, as she entered the room and saw Miss Musgrave already installed as mistress of the household. It did occur to her that she might have been allowed to decline the post. However, etiquette troubled Marian very little, though she sighed as all her old visions vanished – little home pictures which she had drawn, when Louis was to receive his coffee from her own hands, and chat in the most sociable manner possible over newspapers.

She began to feel more at ease as the morning came on; and when Louis had finished some business which awaited him, they rambled over the house together. His study occupied the western wing, and connected with it was a little room opening with a French window into the garden; and this had been fitted up as the especial retreat of Marian. The furniture of the rest of the house had been unchanged; but this boudoir had many modern elegances that made it seem a perfect paradise to our little heroine. And here she could sit, and sew or read, and watch Louis at his books through the open door. She should never feel alone – and she sat down directly to write a long letter to her mother, in which she described the stately beauty of her new home, and gave a glowing description of her boudoir, from the delicate curtains to the pretty inlaid desk she was writing upon. She did not say much about Miss Margaret, and mentioned that Miss Musgrave had kindly relieved her of all trouble in housekeeping.

And this, in truth, she did. Marian soon found that she was never even to be consulted in any home arrangements. The little instance of taking, without a question, the head of the table was a specimen, or key-note, of scenes that were daily enacted. To be sure, the little wife resigned all claims cheerfully; but she did not like being treated quite so much like a child.

There was a fresh source of annoyance for poor Marian. Visitors were daily announced, whose calls of congratulations were in reality calls of curiosity; and she was obliged to be introduced to people that she felt cared nothing for her, and new relations who criticized her almost before she was out of hearing. We do not mean to say that the people of Moorville, the little town upon which the grounds of Maple Grove bordered, were absolutely ill-natured and rude; but it was natural when the eligible of the neighborhood had brought home a wife from a distance, that those ladies who considered themselves ill-used by it, and their friends and acquaintances, should try to discover some flaw in the precious piece of porcelain thus elevated to a niche they had in imagination seen destined for themselves.

Always restrained by the presence of one of her sisters, Marian never appeared in a natural light. A stranger in her own household, she scarce dared to offer a return of the civilities extended to her; and thus her timidity was misinterpreted, and she was called haughty and disagreeable – grave offenses, with which she did not dream she was charged. Hers was not a solitary instance. Let any of my lady friends, who have gone through the ordeal of an introduction to a family of new relations, and a new circle of acquaintances, ask themselves if they cannot remember many hours of bitterness, when they felt themselves misinterpreted; and would have given worlds for the sight of an old familiar face, or the tone of one in whose regard they felt secure. It is not the least trial in the first year of -married life.

At such times, Marian would retreat to her own little room, and give vent to her excited feelings in a hearty "school-girl cry;" and though Louis soothed her gently when he first found her thus, he chided her on a second offense, and was even betrayed into harshness when he found these scenes were of frequent repetition. He called it " childishness," and said she must gain more self-control.

Poor little bride! she often sobbed herself to sleep now, for Miss Margaret had also taken upon herself to give her a lecture occasionally, and Miss Musgrave's looks were enough to chill her at any time. Yet the sisters thought they were doing it all for her good – she must be fashioned after their own model to meet their unqualified approbation. The silver birch might be trained upward to the stiff formality of the poplar as well!

When they came to return the round of bridal visits, and to mingle in the festivities of the neighborhood, it was still worse. Fresh from the gayety and adulation of the most brilliant circle of our land, she entered into the mirth and joyousness of the younger people without a scruple. She laughed and chatted with the young men, and they pronounced her charming; the young ladies borrowed her capes and her dresses – she was becoming a favorite with them, and, surrounded by more congenial spirits, the natural gayety and affability of her character were unrestrained. At first, Louis stood by, as he had done at Washington, and enjoyed the admiration which she excited; but the difference in their ages, frequently commented on, intruded itself by degrees, and he grew almost angry with Marian for the very childishness that had won him. It was well enough, perhaps, in Marian Cleveland, but Mrs. Musgrave must not bring upon herself the reputation of being a flirt. No one but himself – the wiseacre – would have dreamed of giving it to her.

There was a long consultation with Miss Caroline one morning, and Marian sat alone in her boudoir, dreading instinctively its results. Miss Musgrave and Miss Margaret did not hesitate to complain to their brother now, whenever she did anything that offended their ideas of propriety; and Marian knew that so long and so serious a conversation could be nothing but a rehearsal of some fearful misdeed on her part.

She held some work in her hand, but she was not thinking of it, nor of the bright spring sunshine that looked in from the garden, as if to comfort her. She had been married four months now, and had already seen many

"Darling visions die;"

and began to ask herself if she was as happy as she had expected to be. A sure sign that people suspect all is not right, when they find leisure to ask such questions of themselves. " I should be happy – yes, I ought to be very happy – only somehow Miss Musgrave will spoil it all. I wonder they never found out at home I was such a very bad girl. I don't think Louis would have discerned it if he had not put on her spectacles. I wish they would let me go home and pay a visit or ask mamma here, or let Etta come for a few weeks. July is a great while to wait before I see any of them! I wonder if they miss me" – and then a deep sigh, that fairly startled her Canary upon its perch, so long, so deep was it – finished the sentence.

" Maple Grove is very grand, to be sure; but then it's nothing to me, though it does belong to Louis." So Marian's thoughts ran on. "And the house, it is large and fine, and all that; but there's not a room in it ..that I should like to pass through alone after dark except this, and I am expecting every day that Miss Musgrave will need it for a china-closet or store-room. I wonder what I have been doing now to displease her Oh, I know it must have been asking Annie Lane to drive out with me to-morrow. 'Of course she wants the horses herself – she always does when I want to go anywhere" –

And here the meditation was interrupted by Louis himself, who entered the room hastily, and with the air of a man who considers himself deeply aggrieved.

"Mrs. Musgrave," said he, abruptly – oh, where were the thousand pet names she had so loved? He had never called her Mrs. Musgrave when they were alone before.

Marian was in no mood to take fault-finding patiently just then, particularly as she felt it to be undeserved. She did not answer when Louis told her that he entirely disapproved of her growing intimacy with Miss Lane, whom he considered a frivolous, sentimental girl; and, moreover, he could not and would not allow his wife to exhibit herself, as she had done the evening before, in dancing the polka with George Lane – the young lieutenant now home on furlough. Her waltzing be had endured, for there were many ladies whose sense of decorum allowed them to sin against propriety in the like manner; but as for the polka, he had never liked it at Washington, and was utterly amazed, and pained, and shocked to see her attempt to introduce it in this unsophisticated country town.

Marian attempted to reply, but Louis had now wonted himself to a pitch of injured innocence that allowed of no extenuations. And then she grew sulky, and finally a feeling of anger, more against his sister than Louis, flashed from her beautiful eyes, and burned in her pulses. Miss Musgrave was at the bottom of all this, no doubt; but why did Louis suffer himself to be so blinded by her? Where was the confidence that had once existed between them – the unusual tenderness which had marked his love when she first came to find a home at Maple Grove?

" Home!" Marian echoed the word bitterly. And then an evil demon whispereda mad response to this injustice; and, as it flashed to her mind, she said, while Louis turned on his heel, evidently thinking her properly punished and subdued –

" A thousand thanks for your kind care, sir. Rut I beg to be allowed to ride and dance with whom I, choose, unless Miss Musgrave will designate whom she does consider fit companions for me!"

Could he believe his own senses! Mr. Musgrave stood still in the library door transfixed – like one of the marble busts which adorned it. Did those angry, willful words come choking forth from the lips of his gentle wife, who had never even expostulated before? Could that be Marian, who stood before him so resolutely, with a flushed cheek and flashing eyes? What had wrought the transformation? How had he been so deceived in one he had considered the soul of gentleness and truth?

He turned without a word, and the library door fell to with a clang that rang along the halls in dreary echoes. It was the first time it had been closed between them.

Marian thought of this, and the sound came to her like an omen of future discord and estrangement. She was calmer now, and bad leisure to tremble at her own daring, unwifely words. Her first impulse was to fly to him, to fall at his feet and entreat pardon. But she hesitated, while her hand was on the door, and a colder, sterner feeling took possession of her. "He taunted me," she thought, bitterly. "It is he who should sue for pardon" – and then she sat down to her work again, though her hands trembled violently, and indulged in bitter reverie. She felt her heart grow colder and heavier as she sat there, and she wondered at the change which had filled it with wicked promptings. Alas, for Marian, that the good spirit was resisted in its erst whispering; she had yielded herself one moment to a darker guide, and the chains of error were fast being riveted upon her,

Louis Musgrave buried his face in his hands, and sat for a long time without moving. Two miserable hearts were beating very near each other, and there was a veil between them for the first time. He too was prompted at first to explain at least – he could not see that my apology was due from him; and then pride came and took the place of regret, and, in the guise of reason, taunted him with a foolish marriage.

" At your time of life," said the tempter, " when you might have married any lady you had chosen, to select an unformed, frivolous child, without intellectual sympathy! and, after you had raised her from comparative obscurity, and endowed her with your name and fortune, she revolts from your proper and lawful authority, and this is your reward. Suffer now, for you have brought it upon yourself; but do not sue for reconciliation – that is her part."

Even Miss Musgrave was satisfied with the cold dignity of Marian's manner, when they met at the dinner-table, and she congratulated herself on the timely rebuke administered by Louis at her suggestion. And Mr. Musgrave was startled at the change a few hours had wrought; for a wounded spirit had shadowed that sunny face with the thoughtfulness of a sorrowing womanhood. Marian was, in truth, a child no longer, and " woe to him by whom the offense came."

CHAPTER IV.

JUNE warmth and brightness had come to the grounds of Maple Grove, covering the trees with a cloud of fresh foliage, and waking to life a thousand lovely flowers beneath their shade.

Rose trees bent to the earth with their wealth of glowing blossoms, and clumps of the flowering almond and sweet syringe sent forth delicate perfumes to mingle with the breath of the eglantine. Birds sang in their leafy covert s, and butterflies were flitting from spray to spray; – heavy, indeed, must be the heart that could not be happy amid these influences; yet the rightful mistress of this stately home longed to exchange it for a little cottage far away, where a few spring blossoms were blooming brightly in the humble garden walks. She sat by the low, French window, thrown open now to the breeze and the sunshine, and wondered where her light-heartedness, which had made spring the loveliest season of the year, had flown. Her face was far paler now than when we first met her, and the joyous smile which had then "hidden in her eyes," was gone with the light heart. She had commenced to think, to reason, to suffer now. Existence was no longer the illusion it had once been: it had assumed a meaning and a purpose. She had been driven to books as the companions of the many solitary hours she had passed of late, and they had taught her, and her own restlessness and unhappiness had taught her, that there was an error in her life that had ruined all her peace. At times, she was gay, gayer than ever; a mad, reckless volatility of word and action that startled Louis and offended his sisters. And then days would pass with but ordinary civility interchanged between that divided household, and Marian spent them in bitter weeping and self-upbraiding in her own little room.

The library door had never been unclosed since the day of their first strife; it was not the only time, alas, that bitter words had been spoken! Marian often sat near it for hours, listening to every movement from the other side, and longing to watch Louis, as of old, at his studies there. But he was cold and proud, and she had watched every glance of those eyes too long not to see it, and this repelled her when confession and repentance struggled for utterance.

She was thinking over all these things that bright morning, and wondering if she should ever be happy again. But she was not alone now, for her old friend, Mrs. Lawton, was watching her with anxious, pitying gaze, and tears that came unbidden, as she thought of the change a few months had wrought.

They had not spoken of it during Mrs. Lawton's brief and unexpected visit; for Marian's pride revolted at the idea of confiding to another – to Laura more than all others – her wrongs and her errors. But this morning, Laura could no longer forbear to probe the wound, which she felt was undermining health and spirit, and she did it delicately and tenderly. And then what a relief it was to Marian to tell all! How she had been misunderstood, and humbled, and treated like a child. That Miss Musgrave had prejudiced Louis, and he would not ask an explanation or receive it, but only blamed her; and for the very things he had once praised and encouraged. It was very hard! And then she was lonely, for Louis could not always be with her; and the friends which Miss Musgrave and he had selected for her, were sober, married ladies, who talked about housekeeping and managing children, and all that. How could she be interested in them?

Well, she had chosen some acquaintances for herself, and Miss Musgrave treated them rudely, and Louis had chided her. Then she had rebelled, and had spoken angrily to Louis, and about his sisters, too; and she had resolved to be governed by them no longer. "Oh, if I never had done so!" murmured the conscience-stricken little wife.

" After that," she continued, "I danced with George Lane more than ever; but Louis did not attempt to interfere; we just let each other all alone – that is, Miss Musgrave and Louis never speak to me when they can help it. Miss Margaret is kinder; but then she is always busy helping some poor or sick person, and sometimes she is gone for whole weeks. Then it is dreadful here. If Louis would only scold me, I could bear it better. Hut no; he is so polite and grave, and looks at me so coldly; and I never saw anything but love in those eyes till we came here."

What could Laura say to comfort the despairing little creature, who was so desolate amid all this luxury and beauty? She saw there was fault on both sides; and, as the memory of her short married life arose, she thanked God there was naught like this to cloud it. Oh, how her spirit yearned then, as it often did, for the beautiful companionship and sympathy she had then known, and she trembled lest Marian had lost it too, but in a living death.

"I am going to-night, Marian," she said; " and I feel as if Providence had sent me hither to be a mediator between you. What has been the extent of your fault, you alone can tell; Mr. Musgrave must answer to his own heart. Perhaps he, too, has longed in secret for the termination of this unnatural coldness. Is not your duty before you as a wife, to confess your errors, even though pride says no – and strive henceforth to avoid what you know displeases him, and to win back, even at the sacrifice of your own will and pleasure, his confidence and esteem'? Miss Musgrave has doubtless been acting right in her own eyes; but your cheerful and patient submission to her whims and caprices cannot fail to win her at last. She is much older than you, recollect, and has not usurped authority, but retained it. When you have shown yourself a reasonable, unselfish, true-hearted woman, your part will have been accomplished; and you must trust to a higher power that all will be well."

Poor Marian! it was a hard task set before her; and at first there was little encouragement. On the evening of Mrs. Lawton's departure, she indulged herself with giving way to loneliness she now felt more keenly for the pleasant companionship of the last few days; and as Louis passed near her window as night came on, he saw her sitting there with her arms about Neptune's neck crying most bitterly. It was a sad picture, truly, that loving, affectionate heart clinging to a dog in very loneliness, and the faithful creature looking up into her face with almost human sympathy. Once it would have moved Louis; but now he only uttered a ." pshaw," as he reproached himself with having married not only a child, but a baby. His unusual sternness checked the confession Marian had nerved herself to make; and, resolve as she would, she could not utter it when the time had once passed.

I suppose my younger and more romantic readers think it would have been much better if Louis had gone in when he saw her looking sad, and, of his

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