Here was some real intelligence bearing upon the question of Clara’s property, its amount and condition. Certainty was something; but it was not a certainty in any way calculated to elevate or tranquilize the feelings of the young artist. Instead of obtaining with his wife a handsome productive property, in stocks or city real estate, of twenty thousand dollars, he had become possessor of a law suit, and prospective owner of five hundred acres of uncultivated land in Ohio. And, by the time this knowledge was gained, he was so well acquainted with the character of his wife as to entertain for her a respect that was almost deferential. There was nothing frivolous or selfish about her—nothing trifling—nothing vulgar. She was a pure, high-minded, clear-seeing, yet deeply affectionate woman, and her husband, while he loved her tenderly, was painfully conscious that, in seeking her, he had been governed by motives that, if known, she must instinctively despise. Moreover, the fact that he had deceived her by offering his hand in marriage and leading her to the altar when his income was not large enough to support even himself in comfort, must soon appear, and that revelation he dreaded above all things; for, when it was made, the veil would be torn from Clara’s eyes, and she would see him as he was. CHAPTER III. How completely scattered to the winds was Ellison’s long, fond dream of Italy! How obscured was the beautiful ideal of his art, toward which his mind had aspired with such an intense devotion! The cold present, with its imperious demands and uncovered facts was before him, and turn this way or that, he could not shut out the vision. As calmly as he could, he conferred with his wife about her property in the West. Placing in his hands the various papers relating thereto, Clara asked him to make the business his own, as it now really was, and do whatever in his judgment seemed best. All this was easily said, but how was the young man to act without means? His own income, uncertain as it was in its nature, did not yet exceed three hundred dollars a year, and his expense for boarding alone would double that sum. Embarrassment, privation, and deep mortification must soon come, and so oppressed did Ellison feel in view of this, that he could no longer conceal, even from the eyes of his wife, his unhappiness, although the cause lay hidden in his heart. “Are you not well?” Clara frequently asked, as she looked at him with earnest tenderness. “Oh yes! I’m very well,” Ellison would reply quickly, forcing a smile, and then endeavoring to appear cheerful and unconcerned; but his real feelings would flow into the tell-tale muscles of his face and betray the uneasiness of mind from which he was suffering.