to me, his arm was ready, and I took that,
looking up inquiringly, halt-fearfully into his
face. "He shook his head and said—

"You should not write such sorrowful music,
Annie; it cannot please those who love you.
It is not at all my sort; I suppose I don't
understand it. But don't look heartbroken;
every one is praising and admiring it, and
appearing quite delighted."

I soon left him, and wandered about among
my guests. "I might have known he would
not like, or understand it," I muttered
bitterly to myself,—"fool that I am!" The
congratulations and compliments I received
from all quarters only nourished the fever of
pain and disappointment in my heart. When
every one was gone, I sat down before the
dying fire, and sighed wearily.

"A very brilliant evening, Annie!" Harold
said, coming up joyously, and putting
his hand on my shoulder. "You have had a
decided success, my little wife. You will be
quite the rage, if you choose to mix much in
society. I said you would make an admirable
queen."

His words sounded mockingly in my ears;
I sat still and silent, and he went on, standing
beside me, and speaking gaily.

"I should not like you to be transformed
into a woman of fashion; my little quiet
mouse to be talked about and written about,
as having been here and there, and said and
worn so and so. The idea is ridiculous!
Gower was saying, that whatever you did,
you would do with such earnest, that I had
better take care society did not engross you.
But why so grave and silent?"

"Do you think I care for society, or for
what your world thinks of me?" I asked,
scornfully, moving my shoulder pettishly
away from under his hand.

"Well, love, I did not know; I thought
you seemed to enjoy yourself, seemed to be
in good spirits. I suppose all women like
admiration, and you have been pronounced
fascinating, and I don't know what all. How
splendidly you did play! How secret you
must have been about your practising; you
were determined to shine, I see. But why
don't you compose polkas, or valses, or
something merry of that kind, instead of such
dismal incomprehensible music? Do you
know, I don't suppose half the people knew
what to make of it, only––––"

"Do not say any more about that miserable
piece! I cannot bear it to-night!" I
exclaimed. "I thought you would understand
it. O Harold! it is very hard! when
I try hardest to please you, I fail. Do you
think I practised, caring to please any
one but you ? We shall never understand each
other, never be happy. I am quite weary
of trying, weary of everything. You cannot
love me as I love you, or you would learn to
comprehend me. Everything turns to pain,
to torture. What have I done, that I may
never be happy? I have no one but you—
no one; and there is no sympathy between
us. We shall leave off loving each other; I
shall turn your love to hate. I wish I were
dead—dead and quiet." I began to sob
violently. I felt what the expression of my
husband's face was; though I did not look up
at him.

"What is the matter, Annie?" he
exclaimed. "For God's sake, be quiet—or my
sake. Miserable! What have you said?
You are worn out and over-excited, poor
child! Pray, pray be quiet. Remember,—"

"Yes—I remember everything!" I
answered. "That only makes it worse. I
ought to be happy! Yes, of course I ought.
You have loaded me with gifts, you have
petted and spoiled me; and now, like a
naughty child, I quarrel with my
playthings! I am ungrateful, discontented,
wicked! I have received thousands of
benefits; I am sumptuously lodged and clothed
in fine linen, and yet I hold up my greedy
hands, and cry out for something more. Poor
child! No; you should say naughty child!
—you should scold and punish me!"

"Annie!" Harold broke in, upon my
scornful, passionate words; "Annie! you
must be quiet, and listen to me."

I shut my lips firmly, clasped my hands
tightly round my knees, and sat staring
fixedly into the fire. In its dim red hollowness,
I thought I could discern misery, vista
after vista opening before me. How could I
live with this torturing, craving, perpetual
restlessness at my heart ? It had been gone
a little while; now it came back worse than
ever; it would abide there always, I thought.
Must my soul live all those future long, long
years, alone? wandering on without aim or
purpose, finding no rest for her world-worn
feet? No! I would die first; or, at least, I
should go mad.

And I sat harbouring like bitter thoughts;
gazing before me with hot, dry eyes, though
my passionate tears still wetted my cheeks.

Harold had not spoken. At last I glanced
at him; he too sat looking into the fire; he
had seated himself near me. A world of
perplexed thought troubled and clouded his
face. He felt my eyes on him, and turned
his head slowly round to me. He spoke
very gently and tenderly.

"I see how it is, Annie. Yes, I do not
always understand you; sometimes I
disappoint and pain you. You have often borne
Avith my dulness patiently, but to-night your
disappointment was more than you could
bear. Yes, it was very hard, after you had
been thinking you should please him, to have
your husband the only one who did not
admire your music. You are very clever, and
have many thoughts and feelings into which.
I do not enter. I did not know you, Annie.
when I asked you to marry me; if I had—"

"You would not have done so," I
exclaimed,—"oh, misery!" Then you have left
off" loving me. I have wearied you with