This may seem an unnecessary didactic interpolation, but I owe it to the natural course of my story, and as a tribute to my dear husband. Besides, it formed the subject of a conversation which, the question being voluntarily revived by Dr. Merchiston, they held together during the whole afternoon.

It was good and pleasant to hear those two men talk. I listened, pleased as a woman who is contented to appreciate and enjoy that to which she herself can never attain. And once more, for the thousandth time, I noted with admiration the wonderfully strong and lucid intellect with which Dr. Merchiston could grasp any subject, handle it, view it on all points, and make his auditors see it too. Even on this matter, which still seemed to touch his sympathies deeply, especially when he alluded to the world's opinion and cruel treatment of the insane-insane perhaps on some particular point, while the rest of the brain was clear and soundeven there his powers of reasoning and argument never failed.

one

'Well,' said Mr. Rivers, smiling, as they shook hands at the door, 'I am glad to have found some who can understand my hobby. You are certainly one of the clearestheaded men I ever knew.'

You truly think so? I thank you, Rivers,' said the Doctor, earnestly, as he disappeared into the dark.

I remember this night's conversation vividly, because, in heaven's inscrutable mercy-ay, I will write 'mercy'-it was the last time Dr. Merchiston entered our house.

The next morning he bowed to me at the window, riding past on his gaily curvetting horse, looking better and more cheerful than he had done for a long time.

That evening my husband was summoned to the Double House. Its master had been thrown from his horse, his leg and his right arm

fractured. If all went well, James told me, and I had rarely seen him so moved the patient would be confined to his bed, bound there hand and foot, helpless as a child, for three or four months. Poor Dr. Merchiston!

Is his wife with him?' was the first question I asked.

'Yes, thank God, yes!' cried James, fairly bursting into tears. I was so shocked, so amazed by his emotion, that I never inquired or learnt to this day how it came about, or what strange scene my husband had that evening witnessed in the Double House.

:

There was a long crisis, in which the balance wavered between life and death. Life triumphed. went almost every day but it was long before I saw Mrs. Merchiston; when I did, it was the strangest sight. Her looks were full of the deepest peace, the most seraphic joy. And yet she had been for weeks a nurse in that sick room. A close, tender, indefatigable nurse, such as none but a wife can be; as fondly watchful-ay, and as gratefully and adoringly watched, my husband told me, by the sick man's dim eyes, as if she had been a wife bound for years in near, continual household bonds, instead of having been totally estranged from him since the first six months of union.

But no one ever spoke or thought of that now.

Dr. Merchiston slowly improved; though he was still totally helpless, and his weakness remained that of a very infant.

In this state he was when I was first admitted to his sick-chamber.

Mrs. Merchiston sat at the window, sewing. The room was bright and pleasant; she had brought into it all those cheerfulnesses which can alleviate the long-to-be-endured suffering from which all danger is past. When I thought of the former aspect and atmosphere of the house, it did not seem in the least sad

now; for Barbara's eyes had a permanent, mild, satisfied beam; and her husband's, which were ever dwelling on her face and form, were full of the calmest, most entire happiness.

I sat with them a good while, and did not marvel at his saying ere

I left that he thoroughly enjoyed being ill.'

With what a solemn, sublime evenness is life meted out! Barbara has told me since that those five months following her husband's accident were the most truly happy her life had ever known.

'Look at him,' she whispered to me one evening when he lay by the window, half dozing, having been for the first time allowed a faint attempt at locomotion, though he was still obliged to be waited upon hand and foot- Mrs. Rivers, did you ever see so beautiful a smile? Yet it is nothing compared to that he wore when he was very, very ill, when I first began to nurse and tend him; and he did nothing but watch me about the room, and call me his Barbara. I am here, Evan! did you call?'

She was at his side in a moment, smoothing his pillow, leaning over and caressing him. I think he was not aware of there being any one in the room but their two selves, for he fondled her curls and her soft cheeks.

My Barbara, we have had a little ray of comfort in our sad life. How happy we have been in this sick room!'

We have been, Evan ?'

Ay; but nothing lasts in this world-nothing!

Husband, that is like one of your morbid sayings when we were first married. But I will not have it now-I will not indeed.' And she closed his mouth with a pretty petulance. He lifted his hand to remove hers, then sunk back.

'Barbara. I am growing strong again; I can use my right arm. O Heaven, my right arm! I ar not helpless any longer.'

am

No, thank God! But you speak as if you were shocked and terrified.' 'I am I am. With strength comes-O my Barbara!'

His wife, alarmed, called out my name. Dr. Merchiston caught at it.

Is Mrs. Rivers there? Bid her come in; bid anybody come in. Ah! yes, that is well.'

After a pause, which seemed more of mental than physical exhaustion, he became himself again for the rest of the evening.

The next day he sent for me, and

183

in Mrs. Merchiston's absence talked with me a long while about her. He feared her health would give way; he wished her to be more with me; he hoped I would impress upon her that it made him miserable to see her spending all her days and nights in his sick room.

What! in the only place in the world where she has real happiness ?'

'Do you think so? Is she never happy but with me? Then Heaven forgive me! Heaven have pity on me!' he groaned.

'Dr. Merchiston, you surely do not intend to send your wife from you again-your forgiving, loving wife ?'

Before he could answer she came in. I went away thoroughly angry and miserable. That evening I indulged James with such a long harangue on the heartlessness of his sex, that, as I said, he must have been less a man than an angel to have borne it. When I told him the cause, he ceased all general arguments, sat a long time thoughtful, burning his hessians against the bars of the grate, finally sent me to bed, and did not himself follow until midnight.

Dr. Merchiston's cure progressed; in the same ratio his wife's cheerfulness declined. He grew day by day more melancholy, irritable, and cold. By the time he was released from his helpless condition, the icy barrier between them had risen up again. She made no complaint, but the facts were evident.

My husband and I by his express desire spent almost every evening at the Double House. Very painful and dreary evenings they were. Convalescence seemed to the poor patient no happiness-only a terror, misery, and pain.

One night, just as we were leaving, making an attempt at cheerfulness, for it was the first time he had performed the feat of walking, and his wife had helped him across the room with triumphant joy,-he said, breaking from a long reverie, 'Stay! a few minutes more; I want to speak with you both.'

We sat down. He fell back in his chair, and covered his eyes. At length Mrs. Merchiston gently took the hands away.

'Evan, you don't feel so strong as usual to-night.'

'I do; God help me! I do,' he muttered. Would I were weak, and lay on that bed again as powerless as a child. No, Barbara; look, I am strong-well.' He stood up, stretching his gaunt right arm, and clenching the hand; then let it drop, affrighted. My little Barbara, I must send thee away,' he sighed.

Send me away Send her away?' 'Peggy,' cried my husband, in stern reproof, be silent!'

The poor wife broke out into bitter sobs. 'Oh, Evan, what have I done to you? Dear Evan, let me stay-only till you are well, quite well.'

For, despite what he said about his strength, his countenance, as he lay back, was almost that of a corpse. Barbara's clinging arms seemed to him worse than the gripe of a murderer.

'Rivers, my good friend, what do you wish me to do?'

A very simple thing. Tell me -not these poor women-but me, your real reason for acting thus.' 'Impossible.'

Not quite. It may be I partly guess it already.'

Dr. Merchiston started up with the look of a hunted wild beast in its last despair, but my husband laid his hand on his, in a kind but resolute way.

Indeed, indeed, you are safe in telling me. Will you?'

The patient hesitated, held up his thin hand to the light with a wan smile, then said, 'I will.'

James immediately sent us both out of the room.

woman, gentle and frail. She wept until her strength was gone; then I put her to bed in her maid's charge, and waited until Mr. Rivers ended his conference with her husband.

It was two hours before he came out. At sight of him my torrent of curiosity was dried up; he looked as I had sometimes seen him, coming home from a deathbed. To my few questions he answered not a word.

'But at least,' said I, half crying. 'at least you might tell me what I am to do with poor Mrs. Merchiston.'

Yes, yes.' He thought a minute. 'She must go home with us; the sooner the better.'

'You agree, then,' I burst out, breathless; 'you agree to this separation ?'

lasts.'

My husband was a man of inviolable honour, and I was not the woman to wish him otherwise, even for me. I urged no more.

During the ten days that Mrs. Merchiston remained in my house, part of the time she was in a sort of low fever, which was the happiest thing for her, poor soul. I made not a single inquiry after her husband; I knew that Mr. Rivers was with him at all hours, as doctor, nurse, and friend.

One day, when Mrs. Merchiston was sitting in the parlour with me, he looked in at the door. She did not see him. He quietly beckoned

me out.

'Well, James ?'

'Speak lower, Peggy, lower; don't let her hear.'

And then I saw how very much

Yes, that is what I came to say. She must go to him; he wishes it much. Do you think she will ?'

I smiled sadly. Ah! James, she is a woman.'

And you women can forgive to all eternity,-Heaven bless you for it! Besides, she will know the whole truth soon,'

I asked not what this 'truth' was. What did it matter? he was dying. But are you sure, James, there is no hope?'

None, I believe-and am almost glad to believe it. There is no man I ever knew whom I so deeply pity, and shall so thankfully see gone to his last rest, as Dr. Merchiston.'

These were strong words, enough to calm down every wrong feeling, and make me fit to lead the wife to her husband's sick-nay, deathchamber.

How we brought her thither I forget. I only remember the moment when we stood within the door.

Dr. Merchiston lay on his bed, as for five long months he had patiently and cheerfully lain. He had something of that old quiet look now, but with a change. The strange awful change which, however fond friends may deceive themselves, is always clearly visible to a colder gaze. You say at once, 'That man will die.'

When Barbara came into the room, he stretched out his arms with the brightest, happiest smile. She clung to him closely and long. There was no forgiveness asked or bestowed; it was not needed.

I am so content, my Barbara, content at last!' and he laid his head on her shoulder.

Evan, you will not part from me again?'

No-I need not now. will tell you why it was.

They You be

185

lieve you will always believe, how I loved you?'

'Yes.'

'Stoop. Let me hold her as I used to do,-my wife, my little Barbara. Stoop down.'

She obeyed. He put his feeble arms round her, and kissed her with many kisses, such as he had not given her since she was a six months' bride; their memory remained sweet on her lips till she was old and grey.

Dr. Merchiston died at the next sunrise, died peacefully in Barbara's

Three days after, when my husband and I stood by the coffin, where for the last few minutes on earth the features which had been so familiar to us for the last two years were exposed to our view, James said,-touching the forehead, which was placid as a dead baby's, with all the wrinkles gone,

Thank the Lord.' 'Why?'

For this blessed death, in which alone his sufferings could end. He was a monomaniac, and he knew it.'

Before speaking again, my husband reverently and tenderly closed the coffin, and led me downstairs.

'He was, as I say, a monomaniac. Mad on one point only, the rest of his mind being clear and sound.'

And that point was

The desire to murder his wife.He told me,' pursued James, when my horror had a little subsided, that it came upon him first in the very honeymoon beginning with the sort of feeling that I have heard several people say they had at the climax of happiness-the wish there and then to die-together. Afterwards, day and night, whenever they were alone, the temptation used to haunt him. A physician himself, he knew that it was a monomania; but he also knew that, if he confessed it, he, sane on all other points, would be treated as a madman, and that his wife, the only creature he loved, would look on him with horror for ever. There was but one course to save himself and her; he took it, and never swerved from it.'

But in his illness?'