"Perhaps I owe it to you, dear, to tell you that when I brought my father and sister home to live with us, I did not dream how trying a thing it would be to you. I did not know that he was a confirmed invalid, or that she would prove to possess a nature so entirely antagonistic to yours. I thought my father would interest himself in reading, visiting, etc, as he used to do. And I thought Martha's judgment would be of service to you, while her household skill would relieve you of some care. But the whole thing has proved a failure. I am harassed by the sight of my father, sitting there in his corner so penetrated with gloom; I reproach myself for it, but I almost dread coming home. When a man has been all day encompassed with sounds and sights of suffering, he naturally longs for cheerful faces and cheerful voices in his own house. Then Martha's pertinacious-I won't say hostility to my little wife-what shall I call it?" "It is only want of sympathy. She is too really good to be hostile to any one. "Thank you, my darling," he said, "I believe you do her justice." "I am afraid I have not been as forbearing with her as I ought," I said. "But, oh, Ernest, it is because I have been jealous of her all along!" "That is really too absurd." "You certainly have treated her with more deference than you have me. You looked up to her and looked down upon me. At least it seemed so." "My dear child, you have misunderstood the whole thing. I gave Martha just what she wanted most; she likes to be looked up to. And I gave you what I thought you wanted most, my tenderest love. And I expected that I should have your sympathy amid the trials with which I am burdened, and that with your strong nature I might look to you to help me bear them. I know you have the worst of it, dear child, but then you have twice my strength. I believe women almost always have more than men." "I have, indeed, misunderstood you. I thought you liked to have them here, and that Martha's not fancying me influenced you against me. But now I know just what you want of me, and I can give it, darling." After this all our cloud melted away. I only long to go home and show Ernest that he shall have one cheerful face about him, and have one cheerful voice. AUGUST 12.-I have had a long letter from Ernest to-day. He says he hopes he has not been selfish and unkind in speaking of his father and sister as he has done, because he truly loves and honors them both, and wants me to do so, if I can. His father had called them up twice to see him die and to receive his last messages. This always happens when Ernest has been up all the previous night; there seems a fatality about it. Chapter 15 XV. OCTOBER 4 HOME again, and with my dear Ernest delighted to see me. Baby is a year old to-day, and, as usual, father, who seems to abhor anything like a merry-making, took himself off to his room. To-morrow he will be all the worse for it, and will be sure to have a theological battle with somebody.