If anything, John and his wife were--as the pleasant spring-time came on apace--happier in their _ménage_ than had been the case some months before. It was not in Honor’s nature to dwell long either upon real or imaginary grievances, and moreover John had been so wonderfully, so more than ever, kind and good. He had seemed--quite silently, and with more tact than could have been expected of him--both to understand, and to set himself to remedy, the causes for Honor’s silly discontent. To Mrs. Beacham’s vexation--for she could bear less than ever that Honor should be spoilt--new books found their way, for its young mistress’s delectation, to the farm; the last and prettiest opera-music was sure to make its appearance there almost before Honor could have read of its reception by the critics, and--still stronger proof of John’s unwearied affection--he had taken by almost imperceptible degrees to amending his _dress_, and to an extreme watchfulness lest he should offend her with his tongue. At that period of their joint matrimonial lives, there seemed to be a renewed prospect of happiness for one of the best and truest-hearted of men with the sweet young wife on whose love he had set his heart. There was no idle and _désœuvré_ young gentleman now at hand to whisper compliments in the prettiest of ears; no handsome, high-bred _roué_ to place himself in juxtaposition with a husband’s more homely features and less finished manners. But _proh dolor_! The thorn in the side was ever there; grievously and daily pinched the household shoe; for Mrs. Beacham’s temper, her love of power, and her jealousy of John, rather increased than diminished, thus almost neutralising the good effects of time, and of the real and inborn excellence of the two hearts which she seemed fated to torment. The winter had been an unusually severe one. The frost that was foretold by Honor on Christmas-day--the day when, pleading a headache, she escaped the compliment of being wished health and happiness by her husband’s retainers--proved a severe and lasting one. For weeks, without a change or check, the north wind blew over the frost-bound earth. Heavily on leaf and branch hung a pall of snow, wearily plodded the feet of men whose daily toil was an unneeded thing; fuel grew scarcer day by day, and all nature, whether animate or inanimate, that was not rich, suffered. During all the months that had elapsed since Colonel Norcott took his departure from the Bell, Honor had heard but little of her father. He and his wife had spent both the autumn and the winter abroad--where, Honor had not heard; for Mrs. Baker, whom she saw as frequently as the considerable distance between their respective homes (to say nothing of crotchety Mr. Baker) permitted, was never very communicative on the subject of her son’s whereabouts.