The child did not notice the agitation of her companion, and little did she imagine that, long after her head lay softly on her happy pillow, the simple eloquence of those Magic Words was working powerfully in his heart! CHAPTER II. Over many a mile of hard, frosty road, by snow-clad fields and hills and woods, by many an ice-bound stream, must we lead the imagination of our reader on the evening of the same Christmas Day, and peep into another home, far from that we have just quitted. Undrawing the warm crimson curtains of a charming little room--half drawing-room, half library--the light of a lamp falls brightly on the figure of a lady reading to her husband. It is manuscript, and he puts the pages by for her as she goes on. She often pauses, to look up with a delighted smile at his praises, and he thinks that she never looked so beautiful before! She is very like Correggio’s Magdalen, and has the same lovely countenance and waving hair. Presently she came to the last page, and the praise was repeated. “I had no idea I could translate so well,” said she, “and am glad you like it, for that will give me spirits to go on: I may, in time, become quite useful to you.” “When are you not everything to me?” was the reply. “But, Marion, you must not work so hard; I cannot afford to see you look one bit less bright. Besides, it is a kind of reproach to me your working so much; indeed you must not!” “Nonsense!” said Marion, laughing; “you can’t think how happy I am when helping you, for I am sure you are often very weary! Poor Edward! what anxiety I have caused you! Now for a volley of protestations!” said she, laughing again. “But to be serious: I was thinking, to-day, how much we have to be thankful for; and that with all its anxieties how happy this year has been--how _infinitely_ happier, working and striving on together, than droning through an insipid life of ease, as some do. I don’t know what would become of me if you were ever to be rich,” she continued; “to be sure, one might always find some useful employment, some good to be done; but no one knows, except those who have experienced it, the delight of overcoming difficulties, and earning home comforts by one’s own exertions.” “True, dear Marion! I never knew, until I knew you, how little is necessary for happiness!” “I knew what life was--I had an anxious one at home, even from a little child,” said Marion, “and adversity taught me to know what is best worth knowing; what flowers to gather in this great garden, that many neglect, or do not perceive. How sweet are the uses of adversity! I love to linger on those words; and if ever I venture to write an essay,” said she, smiling, “it shall be on that subject. What does it not teach us?--the practice of almost every virtue.” “Nay, not quite so far, enthusiast,” said her husband, smiling; “remember the effect of almost constant sun on flowers; how splendid they become--how fully their beauty is developed!”