Cora heard her husband's quick, eager step as he hurried into the front drawing room, seeking his wife. She felt her heart sinking, the high nervous tension of her whole frame relaxing. She heard the hall clock strike ten. When the last stroke died away, she heard her husband's voice calling, softly: "Cora, love, wife, where are you?" She could bear no more. The overtasked heart gave way. When, the next instant, the eager bridegroom pushed aside the satin portieres and entered the apartment, with a flood of light from the room in front, he found his bride had thrown herself down on the Persian rug before the sofa in the wildest anguish and despair and in a paroxysm of passionate sobs and tears. What a sight to meet a newly-made, adoring husband's eyes on his marriage evening and on the eve of the day of his highest triumph, in love as in ambition! For one petrified moment he gazed on her, too much amazed to utter a word. Then suddenly he stooped, raised her as lightly as if she had been a baby, and laid her on the sofa. "Cora--love--wife! Oh! what is this?" he cried, bending over her. She did not answer; she could not, for choking sobs and drowning tears. He knelt beside her, and took her hand, and bent his face to hers, and murmured: "Oh, my love! my wife! what troubles you?" She wrenched her hand from his, turned her face from him, buried her head in the cushions of the sofa, and gave way to a fresh storm of anguish. When she repulsed him in this spasmodic manner, he recoiled as a man might do who had received a sudden blow; but he did not rise from his position, but watched beside her sofa, in great distress of mind, patiently waiting for her to speak and explain. Gradually her tempest of emotion seemed to be raging itself into the rest of exhaustion. Her sobs and tears grew fainter and fewer; and presently after that she drew out her handkerchief, and raised herself to a sitting position, and began to wipe her wet and tear-stained face and eyes. Though her tears and sobs had ceased, still her bosom heaved convulsively. He arose and seated himself beside her, put his arm around her, and drew her beautiful black, curled head upon his faithful breast, and bending his face to hers, entreated her to tell him the cause of her grief. "What is it, dear one? Have you had bad news? A telegram from Rockhold? Either of the old people had a stroke? Tell me, dear?" "Nothing--has--happened," she answered, giving each word with a gasp. "Then what troubles you, dear? Tell me, wife! tell me! I am your husband!" he whispered, smoothing her black hair, and gazing with infinite tenderness on her troubled face. "Oh, Rule! Rule! Rule!" she moaned, closing her eyes, that could not bear his gaze. "Tell me, dear," he murmured, gently, continuing to stroke her hair. "I am--nervous--Rule," she breathed. "I shall get over it--presently. Give me--a little time," she gasped.