The young husband went upstairs slowly and heavily, more slowly and heavily than might be explained by his all-day unsuccessful tramp after employment. His wife still rested in the rocking-chair. He stood against it, and she took his hand and stroked it. "Tired?" she asked, looking up at him. He gazed into the languishing fire. "Yes." "You're not discouraged, are you?" "Discouraged? N-no. And yet," he said, slowly shaking his head, "I can't see why I don't find something to do." "It's because you don't hunt for it," said the wife. He turned upon her with flashing countenance only to meet her laugh, and to have his head pulled down to her lips. He dropped into the seat left by the physician, laid his head back in his knit hands, and crossed his feet under the chair. "John, I do _like_ Dr. Sevier." "Why?" The questioner looked at the ceiling. "Why, don't you like him?" asked the wife, and, as John smiled, she added, "You know you like him." The husband grasped the poker in both hands, dropped his elbows upon his knees, and began touching the fire, saying slowly:-- "I believe the Doctor thinks I'm a fool." "That's nothing," said the little wife; "that's only because you married me." The poker stopped rattling between the grate-bars; the husband looked at the wife. Her eyes, though turned partly away, betrayed their mischief. There was a deadly pause; then a rush to the assault, a shower of Cupid's arrows, a quick surrender. But we refrain. Since ever the world began it is Love's real, not his sham, battles that are worth the telling. CHAPTER VI. NESTING. A fortnight passed. What with calls on his private skill, and appeals to his public zeal, Dr. Sevier was always loaded like a dromedary. Just now he was much occupied with the affairs of the great American people. For all he was the furthest remove from a mere party contestant or spoilsman, neither his righteous pugnacity nor his human sympathy would allow him to "let politics alone." Often across this preoccupation there flitted a thought of the Richlings. At length one day he saw them. He had been called by a patient, lodging near Madame Zenobie's house. The proximity of the young couple occurred to him at once, but he instantly realized the extreme poverty of the chance that he should see them. To increase the improbability, the short afternoon was near its close,--an hour when people generally were sitting at dinner. But what a coquette is that same chance! As he was driving up at the sidewalk's edge before his patient's door, the Richlings came out of theirs, the husband talking with animation, and the wife, all sunshine, skipping up to his side, and taking his arm with both hands, and attending eagerly to his words.