"DEAR ROSS,--If you can come to club again, you will come to-day. Hedge reads, and Emerson and James will be there. We have not seen you for a year." And she knew why he had not dined at club for a year, why he had spent every moment that he could spend at home. Miserable girl! It was for this that she had stolen out of bed! So Lady Macbeth read No. 3. "_Mr. Edward Ross, 999 State Street:_ "DEAR SIR,--We cannot match the turquoise here. But on the catalogue of Messrs. Roothan, Amsterdam, there are four such stones. Shall we telegraph them? We have very little time before July 31." July 31 was her birthday. It was for this that she was reading her husband's secrets. Wretched Psyche! Lady Macbeth went on. "_Private and Confidential_. "_Edward Ross, Esq., 999 State Street:_" Lady Macbeth paused, but her hand was in. "DEAR SIR,--The committee met and read your letter with great care. Mr. Potter said that he had seen you on Tuesday, and that you expressed the same view then. I also laid before the committee General G----'s letter to you, and the telegram you had received from Syracuse. If you can persuade your friends to--" Here the page ended, and Psyche had to turn over. As she turned, the candlestick tipped on her knee, fell bottom up upon the ground, and Psyche was in darkness. What a noise it made! And what a guilty fool Psyche felt like! No Lady Macbeth now! But she folded the letter and put it back in the letter-case. She put the letter-case in the pocket, and folded the coat. She picked up the candle, and put it on the table. Then she slunk back into her bedroom. All this time Edward was crying out, "Dear Psyche, are you ill? What is it, dear?" He was out of bed, and was fumbling in the dark in Psyche's dressing-room. But the ways of the sea-shore home were not familiar to him. When Psyche dared--that is, when she was at the foot of the bed--she cried out to Edward that nothing was wrong. She had had a bad dream, and was frightened, and had got up to strike a light, but she had not meant to call him. And he found her shivering on the bedside; and he cooed to her and comforted her, and made her promise to call him another time. And Psyche had just force enough to say sadly, "Call you--yes, if you are here." And then he sang to her a little crooning song his mother sang to him when he was a child, and poor Psyche cried herself to sleep. CHAPTER V. The next morning Psyche slept too heavily. She did not wake till Edward was out of bed. Then she started like a guilty thing. But she did not dare go into his dressing-room. And he brought in the "Four Sons of Aymon," and read to her. Oh, she was as long as ever she could be about her dressing; but, alas! the breakfast-bell rang, and Edward ran into his room.