"No. I am alone, and rather tired of my solitude, with a don't-care feeling of being left any longer by myself just creeping over me." "I thought Amy had been with you, or I should have been here before. Ah! I see she has been, by the fresh flowers on the table. She is always thinking of you, my son; her love always in her heart." Robert moved impatiently. Had every one combined together to din his wife's love into his ears? Was he the victim of a conspiracy? So he replied, touchily. "Amy is kind enough, and I dare say I am an ungrateful wretch." "Not ungrateful; but you might be a little, just a little, more loving to her sometimes. She is such a loving, sweet young wife." "You think she loves me?" Mrs. Archer laughed. "Are you in earnest, my son?" she asked. "Never more so in my life," was the reply. His mother looked at him almost reproachfully. "Can anyone doubt it?" she answered. "I believe her whole soul is wrapt up in you, and I thank God that it is so, my son." Robert was silent, "She is a fragile flower," continued Mrs. Archer, "one that the slightest cold breath might crush, yet withal strong in her deep love for you. It must be that, that has enabled her to bear up as she has, for she has had enough to try the strongest of us, and, I fear, looks more thin and shadowy every day." "Mother!" cried Robert, in alarm. "You do not think Amy really ill?" "I don't know what to think. She suffered an agony while she and I sat watching those dreadful weary hours by your bed-side; and I know Dr. Bernard has now prescribed a tonic; but she does not gain strength, and seems more feeble than ever. Forgive me, my son, but I sometimes fear there is a coldness, a nameless chill between you, which makes my heart tremble for the future of both. For hers--because she will die, loving you so intensely, and--" Mrs. Archer hesitated a moment, "and with little return; for yours--lest, when too late, you will see your error, and the remorse may break your heart. Oh! my son, if she has erred, it cannot have been wilfully, and surely she has been sufficiently punished. Think," she added, laying her hand on his, as she was leaving the room, "think well on my words, for I can have but one wish at my heart, and that is my son's happiness." And Robert did think--think deeply all the rest of that day. He seemed never tired of thinking, while his eyes rested oftener on his wife, and he watched her intensely. What if she did love him? Ah! if only she did. His heart leapt wildly at the thought, and his jealous hatred seemed to have no place there now, but to be a far-off dream; or if it did intrude, he set it aside as a bugbear, or felt less savagely inclined than heretofore.