“I am glad you have found out we are poor--that in some things my wife may see I have not been so cruel to her as she thought.” Agatha's cheeks crimsoned with emotion. Why--why were they not alone that she need not have smothered it down, and stood so quiet that he believed she did not feel? He went on, rather more sadly: “But this is not a time to talk of our own affairs; you shall know all ere long. Will you be content until then?” And he held out his hand. She took it, looking eagerly into his face. There was something there so intrinsically noble and true! Though his conduct yet seemed strange--unreasonable towards her, harsh towards his brother, still, in defiance of all, there was that in his countenance which compelled faith. And there was that in her own heart, a something neither reason nor conviction, but transcending both, which leaped to him as through intervening darkness light leaps to light. She felt that she must believe in her husband. He seemed partly to understand this, and smiled--a pale, faint smile, that quickly vanished. “Now, Agatha,” he said, opening the door for her, “go and see how my father is, and then you must go to bed. I will sit up with him to-night. I cannot have my poor wife killing herself with watching.” His voice sunk tenderly; he even put out his hand, as if to stroke her hair after his old habit, but drew it back--Major Harper was looking on. Again the dark fire, lit so fatally on his marriage-day, and since then sometimes fiercely raging, sometimes smothered down to a mere spark, yet never wholly extinguished, rose up in the young man's strong, self-contained, strangely silent heart. Would his pride never let it burst forth, that, mingling with the common air, it might burn itself to nothingness! But how many a whole life has been tortured and consumed by just such a little flame, a mere spark, let fall by some evil tongue which is set on fire of hell. While they paused--the wife waiting, she knew not for what, except that it seemed so easy to follow and so hard to quit her husband--there was a cry heard on the staircase at the foot of which they stood. Mrs. Dugdale came running down in terror. “Nathanael--Agatha--I have told my father that Fred is here. Oh, come to him, do come!” No time for pitiful earthly passions, jealousies, and regrets. Nathanael ran quick as lightning, his wife following. But at the door of the sick-room even she recoiled. The old man sat up in bed, raised on pillows; either the paralysis had not been so entire as was at first supposed, or he had slightly recovered from it. His right arm moved feebly; his tongue was loosed, though only in a half-intelligible jabber. But his countenance showed that, however lay the miserable body, the poor old man was in his right mind. Alas! that mind was not at peace, not lighted with the holy glow cast on the dying by the world to come, It was filled with rage and torment.