Will any of my readers, when I inform them that this was the climax of poor little Honor’s woe, and that at the sight of John’s slumbering form tears welled from her eyelids, be disposed utterly to despise my heroine, and condemn her as one unworthy the interest and sympathy of sensible people? If there be any such--and I am quite prepared to believe in their existence--all I can say is, that their knowledge of female nature is as limited as their charity for human weakness is small and inefficient. That this young wife was very far from either feeling or conducting herself as she should have done, I am quite willing to admit. The deep slumber of the unconscious John, to say nothing of the heavy breathing (I will not shock my refined readers by using a more definite term) that arose at stated intervals from his place of repose, ought to have sounded sweetly in his helpmate’s ears as a proof of good digestion and a mind at ease. Patiently--contentedly even--should she have bided the time of his awaking; while, instead, what did that impulsive Honor do? Why, with those foolish tears still glistening on her long lashes, she whispered a “good-night” to her mother-in-law and crept off to bed, nothing heeding the warning finger and the “hush--sh--sh” of the disagreeable old lady; acts which, in Honor’s condition of mind--for the poor girl was not, I grieve to say, perfect--were in themselves no trifling aggravation. CHAPTER XIII. A BREEZE ABOUT A BONNET. It was on a Sunday morning, about a fortnight after the return of the travellers, that Honor had the first serious warning of coming “difficulty” with her mother-in-law. I have often heard it remarked, and I fear with some degree of truth, that the Seventh is very apt to be the one, of all days in the year, when domestic differences do most frequently arise. Why this should be is not, I think, very difficult of comprehension. To such women as Mrs. Beacham--to the habitually “busy”--the enforced idleness of Sunday hangs terribly heavy on the folded hands. When an active-minded and energetic female has nothing to do, there is a terrible temptation to be cantankerous. With John’s restless, vigorous-bodied parent the Sabbath was anything but a favourite time. She paid all outward respect to the hours between sunrise and bedtime on the “Lord’s day.” Her best gown was donned, and her roast beef eaten; the knitting-needles were put away, and Cowper’s Sermons or Law’s _Serious Call_ brought forward in their stead. Mrs. Beacham might even go so far as to _call_ the “Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord, honourable;” but she was, nevertheless, very thankful (under the rose) when the irksome hours drew to a close; and if there did happen to be a day when, to use Letty’s favourite expression, “missus got out the wrong side of her bed,” that day was pretty certain to be the Seventh.