"Jane," I said to her one day, after biding my
time, "why are you not happy?"

Jane became crimson, and I saw her little
fingers tremble as she vainly tried to threadle
her needle.

"I—I am very happy," she stammered.

"No, Jane, you are not; neither is Mr. Forbes.
I do not want to meddle between you; but yet,
Jane, if a word of sound sensible advice from
cousin William would help to set matters right,
why not give yourself the chance, and him
the pleasure, of that word?" Her colour came
and went; her work dropped on her lap; she
clasped her hands and said:

"Oh! if you could—if you could tell me
something—advise me, I mean. Oh! cousin William,
if you could make my husband like me!"

"I always suspected this," I replied, rather
ruefully; "but, child, I must know why he
married you. Do you know?"

"Oh yes," she answered, in a very peculiar
tone; " and that is just the mischief. If I had
known nothing, all might have been well."

This was very mysterious. It took me some
time and trouble to make Jenny more explicit;
at length she told me all.

"When we were really married," she began,
''and I came home his wife, and looked at
him and felt proud of him, I was happy. Oh!
so happy. Perhaps you remember that, even
before changing my dress, I went down the
garden. I had a foolish fancy to gather some of
my favourite flowers and take them with me. I
thought to be alone there; but some one had
given Mr. Forbes a letter on our coming in, and
he had gone to the garden to read it. I saw him
in the summer-house, sitting in your chair, his
head flung on the table, his arms clasped above
it; and I heard him groaning as if he were in
great agony. I turned cold and trembled. I
knew it was no physical pang that wrung those
moans from him. The letter he had been reading
was on the ground by him. I picked it up
and stood with it in my hand, looking at him.
He had not heard, and he did not heed me. I
looked just at the first words; and when I had
read them, I could not leave off till I had finished
the whole letter. God help me! It was a love-
letter, written to my husband by one who had
been compelled to betray him; but who, at the
eleventh hour, repented her error and asked to
be forgiven! She wrote full of hope and fondness.
She had suffered so much that he could
not, she said, be long angry with his own Annie!
Yes, she called herself his own. I was his wife;
I had not been an hour married; I still wore my
white dress, my veil, and my orange-wreath, and
another woman wrote thus to my husband! He
roused himself and saw me. I still held the
letter in my hand, and my face, no doubt, told
him that I had read it; for he took it from me
and walked away—both without a word. I
wondered how he felt. Was he sorry the letter had
not come sooner? Would he have given me up
even at the foot of the altar? I know better
now-- I know Mr. Forbes could not be dishonourable;
but then my mind was not my own. One
thing, however, was clear. He did not love me.
He had wished to marry me in order to punish
the ingrate, and to hurry our marriage in order
to forestal hers, and show her how little he felt
her faithlessness. He had taken me, poor, plain,
and unattractive, that I might owe him much,
and he, the rich, handsome gentleman, owe me
very little. That was it, and, cousin William, it
was very bitter.

"You know now why we are not, and cannot
be, happy. It is because I read that letter. I
am like Psyche, and, like her, I pay for my
error. If I had remained ignorant, I should have
been content. Mr. Forbes would have acted his
part to the end, and to the end I should have
thought that I had fascinated him. But my
poor little pride has had a fall, and little cousin
Jane has been sorely humbled. She knows,
what you knew all along, that she was never
loved, but merely made the instrument of an
angry lover's revenge. Still, I must be just to
him. I am sure he meant to make me very
happy—to be generous, kind, and attentive, and
perhaps, in the end, he would have liked me.
Only, you see, now he cannot. I know too much.
As he is in your presence, so he is in private-- a
perfect gentleman. I, who meant to be so good, so
devoted, so dutiful even, never find a word to say
to my husband. I answer when he speaks, and
that is all. I am cold as a statue when he is by.
I feel it, I know it, and I cannot help it: that
Annie is ever between us, and she freezes me. I
have never seen her; I do not know who she is,
what she is like; but sometimes I lie awake at
night and think, ' If he were to find me dead
tomorrow, would he be very sorry; he could marry
his Annie?'"

Poor little Jane! My heart ached for her, and
it ached all the more that I fancied she was fond
of her husband. " Jenny, Jenny," said I, with a
sigh, "I will tell you why you can do nothing
to win Mr. Forbes; it is because you like him."

She hid her face in her hands, and I saw her
forehead, her neck even, turn crimson.

"Yes, that is it," she said at length, looking
up and turning pale again. " I like him—I who
reproached myself for not caring enough about
him when we married—I who meant to try so
hard to get that liking. I like him. He does
not see it, he never will see it; but if he should,
I shall be the most wretched of women. It is
the thought of my indifference that reconciles
him to his lot; if he knew the truth, he would
find it unendurable."

"How do you know that?" I asked, much
startled.

"I cannot tell you, but I know it. I nearly
betrayed myself once, and I cannot forget his
look of uneasiness and alarm."

"Jane, you slander your husband."

"No," she replied, quietly, " and you must
not misunderstand me and wrong him. I am
quiet, you know; well, I believe that Mr.