"Why so thoughtful, Theodore?" He did not reply for some moments, nor lift his head, and Constance was about to repeat her question in a more earnest voice, when a hot tear fell upon her hand. She had seen him often sorely tried and painfully exercised, but had never known him to shed a tear. There had always been a troubled silence in his manner when difficulties pressed upon him, but tears moistened not his eyes. Well might her heart sink down in her bosom at that strange token of intense suffering. "Dear Theodore!" she said, in a changed tone, "tell me what it is that troubles you!" A shuddering sob was the only reply, as he leaned his head back upon her bosom. "Say, dearest, what has happened?" The tears now fell from his eyes like rain, and sob after sob shook his frame convulsively. Constance waited in silence until the agitation subsided, and then gently urged him to tell her what it was that troubled him so painfully. "I am broken in spirits now, Constance. I am a weak child. I have received the last blow, and manhood has altogether forsaken me." "Tell me! oh, tell me! Theodore, all, all! Do not distress me by further silence, or mystery!" A pause of some minutes succeeded, during which Wilmer was making strong efforts to overcome his feelings. "Constance," he at length said, mournfully, "I have tried long, and much beyond my strength, to earn the small sum that it took to support our little ones; but nature has at last given way. Here is the last dollar I shall probably ever earn, and now I shall be a burden upon you, eating the bread of my children, while they, poor things, will hunger for the morsel that nourishes me. I do not wonder that manly feelings have passed away with my strength. Constance, what shall we do?" An angel of comfort is woman to life's last extremity. Fragile as a reed, that bends to the passing breeze, when the sunshine of prosperity is bright above and around, she becomes the tall oak, deep-rooted and strong-branched, when the wintry storms of adversity sweep over the earth. No trial subdues her, no privation brings a murmur of discontent. She will hope to the last, and still have a smile of assurance for those who, in their despondency, have even cast away hope. Constance Wilmer was a woman, and as a woman, her worth was felt more and more, as troubles came thicker and faster. "Dear husband!" she said, in a steady and cheerful voice, "you have forgotten that line, so true and so comforting--"'Despair is never quite despair'-- "I see no cause for such painful feelings. Pinching want is not upon us yet, and I am sure the time will never come when our children shall ask food at our hands in. vain. Trial, which is always for our good, will never reach beyond the point of endurance." "The burden is all upon you, Constance. Heaven grant that you may have strength to bear it!"