do strict justice to Albert and Ella in all her thoughts—between all these trials, no wonder she looked old beside the rosy freshness of triumphant love, that shone unclouded in Ella’s pretty face. No wonder she desired to go home to her father—to one who never misunderstood her, who never required her to conceal any thought or emotion—one whom she could please wholly, by being herself in all things. Sometimes it seemed that she could not wait one moment; that she must fly to him, whatever the result. But when she mentioned this desire on the morning in question, Albert was astounded. His gesture and words made her indignant. She compared him mentally to her father. The expression of a strong desire for anything, created in Dr. Forest an instinctive impulse to help gratify it. “I wish much to go,” she said simply, as if that alone should be enough. “But at this time, my dear.” “I will return in less than a week.” “Indeed! You would go alone! Do you suppose I can permit my wife to go home for the first visit after our marriage, without her husband? I shall go with you, of course.” Ella winced. Here was an evidence of the husband’s pride in his position. Why, he was not fully hers, after all; and for the first time she felt jealous of the wife. Very soon after she left the room. Later, in Clara’s room, Albert came to her, evidently to talk over the matter. She put her arms about him, and tried the little coquettish arts that used to charm him, only to find for the twentieth time, with secret mortification, that they had lost their power. Ella had the monopoly of all pretty arts now. Clara knew it, and despised herself for the foolish persistency of hoping against hope, lowering her dignity by seeking to regain anything that such a kitten as Ella Wills could win; but it would be worse than useless to show her feelings. Unhappiness was a crime in Albert’s eyes, and he had not seen a tear in hers for many a month. In answer to his question, what had given her such a sudden desire to go home, she answered, “It is not sudden. I have been thinking of it a very long time. I don’t think I am over well, and I so wish to see papa. I cannot tell you how strong the desire is.” “You have not mentioned being ill, Clara;” and with the fatality of many people who wish to avoid a scene, he took the surest means to produce one, for he added, “but you have no faith in me as a physician.” “That is very unjust, Albert.” “If you had any faith in me, you would tell me if you had symptoms of illness.” “Perhaps I should be more flattered if it were not necessary to tell them.” “I do not profess to be a magician, like your father,” he said, ironically. “This is a reflection upon my father,” replied Clara, indignantly. “It is not necessary for me to tell you what I think of it. I am not alone in the opinion that he is a very superior physician.”